!/     THE      MINOR      DRAMA. 
No.  XX. 

THE  WHITE  HORSE  OF 

i  THE  PEPP£JRS. 


€omk 


IN     TWO     ACTS. 


BY    SAMUEL     LOVER. 


THE   STAGE    BUSINESS,   CASTS   OF   CHARACTERS, 
COSTUMES,  RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  ETC. 


CD 


NEW-YORK : 

&  CO.,  18  Ann-Street, 

BALTIMOBE,  MD. 
flUNRY  TAYLOE,  Sun  Iron  BuUdings. 

PRICE    12  1-2   CENTS. 


D  R 


THE    WHITE    HORSE 

OF  THE   PEPPERS. 


A     COMIC      DRAMA 

IN    TWO     ACTS. 

m 

BY    SAMUEL     LOVER. 

i 

WITH   THE    STAGE   BUSINESS,   CAST  OF  CHARACTERS, 
RELATIVE  POSITIONS,  ETC. 


NEW-YORK; 
WM.  TAYLOE  &  CO.,  18  Ann-Street. 

BALTIMORE,  MB./. 
WM.  &  HENRY  TAYLOR,  Stra  Iron  Buildings. 


EDITORIAL     INTRODUCTION. 

"  THE  WHITE  HORSE  OF  THE  PEPPERS"  possesses  in  tfh 
eminent  degree  all  the  characteristics  which  distinguish  the 
productions  of  its  author — a  gentleman  as  much  admired  for  his 
powers  as  a  musician  and  artist,  as  a  scholar  and  poet. 

This  drama  is  replete  with  such  incidents  and  situations  as 
are  required  in  stage  representations,  while  the  dialogue  abounds 
with  just  sentiments,  genuine  wit,  pure  humour,  and  natural 
pathos. 

The  time  at  which  the  scene  is  laid,  was  a  stirring  one  for  the 
adherents  of  King  James,  and  many  a  noble  supporter  of  the 
pusillanimous  monarch  not  only  shed  his  heart's  blood  in  his 
cause,  on  "  the  banks  of  the  bloody  Boyne,"  but  left,  as  the  re- 
ward of  his  fidelity,  a  condemned  name  and  ruined  fortune  to 
his  plundered  successors. 

The  bold,  loyal,  and  really  Irish,  Gerald  Pepper,  is  a  faith- 
ful portrait  of  the  hard-fighting,  high-minded,  and  dare-devil 
gentleman  of  the  time  and  nation.  His  outbreaks  of  feeling, 
love  of  his  country,  and  easily-excited  sympathies,  offer  an  ex- 
cellent contrast  to  the  cold,  phlegmatic,  cautious,  calculating, 
foreign  mercenary,  Major  Hans  Mansfeldt.  The  stratagem  by 
which  he  recovers  his  confiscated  lands,  is  well  conceived  and 
most  humorously  carried  out.  In  short,  from  the  opening  scene 
to  the  fall  of  the  curtain,  the  interest  in  "  The  White  Horse  of 
the  Peppers"  never  flags. 

The  original  "  Gerald" — the  lamented  POWER — possessed  a 
reputation  that  would  have  ensured  success  to  any  drama  he 
appeared  in  ;  but  he  had  in  this  instance  the  aid  of  an  artiste  in 
his  way,  of  equal  talent — we  allude  to  Mr.  Webster,  whose 
Major  Hans  Mansfeldt  was  as  perfect  a  portraiture,  as  was 
Power's  of  the  more  prominent  Gerald,  while  "  little  Mrs. 
Fitz."  was  all  that  could  be  wished  in  the  kind-hearted,  ready, 
faithful,  and  fascinating  Agatha.  We  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
witnessing  the  performances  of  Mr.  Brougham  and  Mr.  Shaw, 
in  this  and  the  old  country,  of  Gerald  Pepper.  Both  have  their 
excellences,  and  are,  in  our  opinion,  the  best  living  representa- 
tives of  the  owner  of  "  The  White  Horse  of  the  Peppers." 


CAST     OF     CHARACTERS. 

Haymarket,  1837.  Park,  1838. 

Colonel  Chesham Mr.  Perkins.  Mr.  Garni. 

Major  Hans  Mansfeldt "     Webster.  «'     Placide. 

Darby  DonagJiue "     Strickland.  "     Chippendale. 

Phelim "     King.  "     Jones. 

Monk u     Gough.  "     Bedford. 

Portreeve '«    Matthews.  "    Povey. 

Gerald  Pepper "    Power.  •'     Power. 

Rafferty '«     Bishop.  "    King. 

Chorus 

Two  Supreme  Burgesses 

Two  Servants 

Magdalene Miss  Cooper,  Miss  Cushman. 

Agatha Mrs.  Fitzwilliam.  Mrs.  Richardson. 

Time  of  representation,  1  hour  and  35  minutes. 
Scene  lies  in  Ireland,  in  the  year  1690. 


COSTUMES. 

COLONEL  CHESHAM. — Light  blue  broad-skirted  coat,  trimmed  with  gold  lace- 
yellow  cloth  breeches,  buff  sword  belt,  trimmed  with  gold  lace,  black  slouch  hat, 

bound  with  gold,  one  wliite  feather,  high  black  boots. 
MAJOR  HANS  MANSFELDT.— Same  as  Chesham,  with  steel  cuirass,  brass  spurs, 

straight  flaxen  wig,  yellow  gauntlets. 
DARBY  DONAGHUE. — First  dress :  white  serge  peasant's  jacket,  green  damask 

waistcoat,  blue  apron,  brown  cloth  breeches.     Second  dress :  Brown  Dutchman's 

dress,  high  dirty  boots. 

PHELIM. — Brown  tabbed  jacket,  blue  cloth  breeches,  high  russet  boots,  drab  hat. 
MONK.— Friar's  grey  dress. 
PORTREEVE.— Old  fashioned  brown  coat,  ditto  waistcoat,,  black  br«eche.<s  black 

worsted  stockings,  yellow  clo;ik. 
GERALD  PEPPER.— First  dress:  Scarlet  broad-skirted  coat,  trimmed  with  silver 

lace  an<J  tassels,  buff  serge  trunks,  green  silk  sash,  with  silver  fringe,  buff  sword 

belt,  trimmed  with  green  ribbon,  black  slouch  hat  and  feather,  bound  with  silver. 

Second  dress  :  The  same  as  Rafferty. 
RAFFERTY. — Old  scarlet  waistcoat,  patched,  oid  woollen  jacket,  without  sleeves, 

green  cloth  breeches,  torn  old  hat. 
CHORUS.— The  same  as  Rafferty. 
TWO  SUPREME  BURGESSES.— Old-fashioned  suits,  high  boots,  three-cornered 

huts. 

TWO  SERVANTS.— Old-fashioned  liveries. 
MAGDALENE. — Dove  coloured   satin   gown,   trimmed  with  white  satin,  open  in 

front,  white  satin  petticoat. 
AGATHA. — First  dress:  Orange  merino,  trimmed  with  blue.  Second  dress :  Chintz 

bedgown,  brown  patched  petticoat,  handkerchief  over  the  head. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right;    L.  Left;    R.  D.  Right  Door;    L.  D.  Left  Door; 
S.  E.  Second  Entrance;  U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;   M.  D.  Middle.  Door. 

RELATIVE  POSITIONS/ 

R.,  means  Right;  L.,  Left ;   C.,  Centre  ;    R.  C.,  Right  of  Centre: 
L.  C.,  Left  of  Centre. 


THE    WHITE    HORSE    OF 
THE   PEPPERS. 


ACT     I. 

SCENE  I. — An  Inferior  of  Bally  garth  House. 

MAGDALENE  discovered,  seated  at  a  table — lights  upon  it — 
employed  at  needlework — handsome  pictures  J^ng  round 
the  room,  hi  which  an  air  of  ancestral  comfort  prevails — 
an  oriel  window  at  the  back,  through  which  a  moonlight 
vieiv  is  seen. 

Mag.  Vainly  I  endeavour  to  wear  away  the  time  while 
Gerald  is  absent ;  he  never  leaves  the  house  that  I  dread 
not  some  fatality  may  occur  either  to  his  home  or  himself. 
Oh,  what  dreadful  times  are  these,  when  you  know  not 
how  long  a  home  may  be  left  you. 

Enter  AGATHA,  u. 

Aga.  The  children  sleep  so  soundly,  my  lady,  and  Mas- 
ter Gerald  is  laughing  in  his  dream  so  ;  'tis  beautiful  to 
look  at  him — bless  him  ! 

,   J\lag.  Yes,  the  boy  sleeps  and  smiles,  while  his  mother 
wakes  and  weeps. 

Aga.  Oh,  my  lady  dear,  don't  take  on  so ;  indeed,  in- 
deed, my  lady,  you  fret  too  much. 

Mag.  Oh,  Aggy,  when  I  think  of  those  dear  children, 
and  know  not  how  soon  they  may  be  beggars  and  out- 
casts. 

Aga.  Don't  be  talking  so  sadly,  my  lady,  pray  don't ;  I 


6  THE    WHITE    HORSE  {•  ACT  I. 

want  to  finish  the  dear  boy's  mantle,  and  I  came  to  ask  you 
for  more  silk  for  the  lining. 

Mag.  You'll  find  it  in  the  basket, — make  it  warm  for 
him,  Agatha,  there's  no  knowing  how  soon  he  may  want 
it — pefliotps  at  dead  i>f  ?igh-t,  we  may  be  driven  from  our 
home,  and  forced  to  seek  'shelter  beneath  some  hedge. 
\Grcab  •sl'W.tiv^  atyd  ccasping'  of  swords  outside.]  Ha! 
wheri-ce  this  shouting  ?  perchance  they  are  coming  now. 
[Goes  to  window  and  looks  out — great  ujwoar  and  strife  out- 
side^ Heavens  !  1  see  Gerald  on  his  white  horse,  surround- 
ed by  a  crowd,  and  other  horsemen,  too.  Their  swords 
flash — A.h  !  [Shouts  outside — she  sinks  into  a  chair. 

Aga.  [Looking out. \  The  crowd  is  dispersing,  my  lady; 
my  master  is  quite  safe.  I  see  him  plainly,  he  is  riding 
towards  the  house.  |  Magdalene  reviving.]  He  is  safe,  my 
lady — he  returns  ! 

Mag.  Thank  heaven  !     Thank  heaven  ! 

Gerald.  [Outside. \   This  way,  gentlemen,  this  way  ! 

Enter  GERALD,  COLONEL  CHESHAM,  and  HANS  MANS- 
FEisVTjUMagdalene  rushes  to  Gerald's  arms.  Agatha 
exits,  R. 

Mag.  My  Gerald  !     Oh,  T  have  been  so  terrified. 

Ger.  My  poor  Mag — what  a  timid  heart  it  has  ! 

Mag.  What  meant  that  shouting? 

Ger.  A  mere  nothing,  my  love ;  here  are  two  gentlemen, 
who  demand  our  courtesy.  \She  curtsies  with  constraint  to 
the  Colonel  and  Hans.]  I  will  leave  you,  gentlemen,  for  a 
few  minutes  ;  we  want  wine,  and  my  serving  varlets  are 
enquiring  about  the  row,  instead  of  minding  their  business. 

[Exit,  R. 

Mag.  [Aside.]  These  men — armed  to  the  teeth  ;  per- 
haps the  hour  is  come  to  drive  us  from  our  hearths.  [  To 
Colonel  Chesham.]  Oh,  tell  me  truly,  sir,  what  means  all 
this  1 

Ches.  In  brief,  madam,  we  are  indebted  to  your  hus- 
band for  our  lives.  Set  upon  by  a  large  and  armed  mob, 
he  gallantly  rode  amongst  them,  and  by  the  influence  of 
words,  obtained  our  safety,  which  our  swords  must  have 
failed  to  do.  It  was  the  more  generous  as,  I  am  aware, 
we  are  political  enemies. 

Hans.  De  reppel  rascals  vas  verra  near  to  vinisli  uz,  in- 
teet. 


SCENE  I.]  °*'    THE    PEPPERS.  7 

dies.  [Aside  to  Hans.]  Hush !  you  forget  where  you 
speak.  [£side.]  What  a  brute  he  is  ! 

Enter  AGATHA,  R. 

Aga.  My  lady,  the  dear  boy  wakes,  and  cries  for  you  ; 
I  cannot  pacify  him. 

Mag.  Poor  child,  heaven  help  him  !  Excuse  me,  gen- 
tlemen. [Exeunt  Magdalene  and  Agatha,  R.  s.  E. 

Ches.  Poor  lady,  she  is  sore  troubled.  Did  you  mark 
her  alarm  when  we  entered  1  she  feared  we  were  come 
in  the  execution  of  a  forfeiture. 

Hans.  And  no  vondher  she  was  froightened,  dis  is  ver 
nice  ouse  to  lose ;  look  at  de  peecture — ver  goot;  de  blate 
ver  goot ;  mid  every  ting  else  goot  besize. 

[  Looks  about  in  admiration. 

Ches.  [Aside.]  Hang  me,  if  that  calculating  rascal  is 
not  reckoning  in  his  own  mind  the  profits  of  this  generous 
fellow's  ruin.  I  say,  Hans  Mansfeldt 

Hans.  Veil,  vat  vant  you  mid  me. 
v  Ches.  What  are  you  about? 

Han's*  I  tinfc  dis  vill  be  ver  noice  ting  ven  Mynheer  de 
Commissioner  begin  de  fish  kitchen. 

Ches.  The  confiscation,  you  mean  ? 

Hans.  Ya! 

Ches.  Major  Mansfeldt,  it  is  true  the  confiscations  will 
be  extensive,  and  perchance  the  generous  fellow  who  has 
saved  our  lives,  may  be  a  sufferer ;  but  is  it  fair  thus  to 
anticipate  his  ruin  ?  I  swear,  if  it  chanced  to  be  my  for- 
tune to  have  this  man's  property  allotted  to  me,  I  would 
sooner  cut  off  my  sword  arm  than  take  it  from  him,  after 
his  conduct  of  this  evening.  Now,  suppose  it  were  youi 
case  to  have  it  given  to  you,  could  you  accept  it  ] 

Hans.  Vy,  I  dink  I  goot. 

Ches.  Then  I  don't  envy  you  your  feelings,  Majoi 
Mansfeldt. 

Hans.  Vy,  now,  zee — suppose  dis  vas  gif  to-  me,  if  I 
vouldn't  haf  it,  somepody  else  vould,  vitch  vould  be  as  all 
as  bad  for  dis  man  here,  and  no  petters  vor  me,  and  vy 
shouldn't  I  getch  vat  I  goot  in  de  fish  kitchen,  as  another. 
Ches.  I  think,  sir,  you  had  better  keep  this  to  yourself, 
while  you  are  under  this  hospitable  roof. 

Hans.  [Aside,  looking  round.]  Splot  !  but  I  vood  like  to 
keep  it  all  mineself. 


8  THE    VVHITH    HOUSf:  [Acx  I. 

Enter  GERALD,  followed  by  a  SERVANT,  bearing  a  handsome 
salver,  silver  claret-jug,  and  glasses.J^SL. 

Ger.  Now,  gentlemen,  some  wine.     Where  is  my  wife  ] 

Enter  MAGDALENE,  R.  s.  E. 

Mag.  Here,  dearest;  our  Gerald  cried,  and  I  went  to 
sooth  him.  I  hope  these  gentlemen  will  pardon  my  ab- 
sence ] 

Ckes.  Madam,  name  it  not. 

Hans.  Oh,  de  shoild  vil  zometimes  croi. 

Ger.  [  To  Servants.}  Fill ! 

[The  Servant  pours  out  wine,  and  they  drink  with  salu- 
tations to  each  other,  all  but  Hans,  who  swigs  his 
wine,  and  has  his  cup  filled  twice. 

Hans.  Dat  glarets  is  goot ! 

Ger.  That  claret,  sir,  has  been  in  my  cellar  fifteen 
years :  it  is  a  wine  of  which  the  second  draught  is  better 
than  the  first. 

H&ns.  I  will  droi  dat. 

[He  has  his  cup  filled  agair*,  ancfdrinks. 

Ger.  And  now,  gentlemen,  as  we  are  all  safe  and  quiet 
here,  may  I  ask  how  you  became  involved  in  the  riot  I 
found  you  1 

dies.  We  are  engaged,  sir,  truth  to  say,  in  an  ungracious 
duty  :  it  has  devolved  on  me  to  make  some  surveys  under 
their  honours,  the  commissioners  of  the  court  of  forfei- 
tures ;  the  peasantry  having  obtained  a  knowledge  of  our 
purpose,  were  hanging  on  our  flank  all  day,  and  the 
branches  of  a  pretty  stream  near  a  neighbouring  town 
hereabout — 

Ger.  I  know  it— Duleek. 

Ckes.  From  our  ignorance  of  the  winding  of  the  stream, 
these  branches  misled  us,  and  so  we  became  separated  from 
our  troopers,  on  perceiving  which,  the  peasantry  fell  upon 
us  as  you  saw. 

Hans.  Ha  !  the  repp  el  rascals  ! 

Ger.  Call  them  not  rebels,  nor  rascals,  sir,  I  pray  you. 
We  differ  in  opinion,  gentlemen,  as  to  who  should  be  king, 
but  it  is  hard  that  our  successful  adversaries  should  brand 
with  the  name  of  rebellion,  what  is,  in  fact,  but  a  too  faith- 
ful adherance  to  a  worthless  monarch. 


SCENE  I.]  OF    Till-;    PKPPERS. 

Ches.   I  am  glad  to  hear  you  call  him  worthless,  sir. 

Ger.  I  do  so  now,  because  he  has  deserted  the  most  ge- 
nerous people  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  who  perilled  all 
in  his  cause ;  it  is  to  well  known  to  seek  to  make  it  a  se- 
cret from  you,  that  1  was  one  of  his  strongest  adherents. 
I  fought  for  him,  and  so  did  many  of  those  fellows  who 
attacked  you  just  now  ;  but  why  did  they  do  so  ?  the  man 
whose  property  you  were  on,  is  popular,  sir  ;  these  poor 
fellows  are  attached  to  those  who  have  lived  and  spent 
their  fortunes  among  them,  and  it  is  their  ardent  natures 
that  urge  them  to  this  stuong  demonstration  of  opinion. 

Hans.  Sdrong  demonsdration  ]  Ha  !  dat  is  a  ver  noice 
name  for  pikes  and  pall  gaderischest 

Ger.  I  give  you  my  honour,  sir,  some  of  those  boys  are 
the  best-hearted  and  most  good-natured  fellows  in  the 
world. 

Hans.  Oh,  ver  good-natured — Ha  !  ha! 

Ches.  I  can  feel  the  truth  and  justice  of* all  you  say,  and 
only  regret  your  opinions  have  been  so  decided  in  the 
cause ;  for  in  the  political  heat  of  the  moment,  I  will  not 
flatter  you  by  saying  your  property  is  very  safe. 

Ger.  I  know  it,  sir ;  but  I  would  recommend  whoever 
gets  it,  or  any  other  property,  to  take  it  gently,  and  soften 
the  hardship  of  the  seizure  with  as  much  of  charity  as  he 
can.  In  short,  to  do  it  like  a  gentleman,  for  our  people 
are  fond  of  the  landlords  who  have  used  them  well,  and 
will  not  be  easily  reconciled  to  plunder. 

Hans.  Plonther  !  dat  is  a  hard  vort ! 

Ger.  It  is  not  the  less  plunder,  sir,  because  it  has  the 
sanction  of  the  law  of  the  strongest. 

Hans.  Dat  is  anoder  of  your  sdroiig  opinions. 

Ger.  We  had  better  say  no  more  on  the  subject,  sir. 
In  a  couple  of  centuries,  our  posterity  will  judge  more 
calmly  than  we  can. 

Hans.  [Aside.]  I  hope  my  bosderity  vil  have  zomeding 
bedder  to  old  dan  sdrong  opinions. 

Ches.  However  we  may  differ,  sir,  on  such  matters, 
there  can  be  but  one  opinion  of  your  generous  conduct 
in  our  rescue. 

Ger.  You,  sir,  are  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman,  and  would 
have  done  the  same  by  me. 

Ches.  1  would,  sir,  and.  will,  if  it  should  ever   be  in  my 


10  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [ACT  I. 

power  to  befriend  you.  I  am  Colonel  Chesham,  of  the 
King's  Dragoons ;  may  I  ask  the  name  of  our  generous 
protector  ] 

Ger.  It  might  only  give  you  pain  to  hear  it  associated 
some  day  with  ruin ;  therefore,  ask  it  not,  I  pray  you. 

Enter  SERVANT,  L.,  with  a  letter. 

Ser.  A  messenger,  sir,  who  has  ridden  hard,  desired  me 
bear  you  this  letter  with  all  haste. 

Ger.  See  that  messenger  well  taken  care  of.  [Exit  Ser- 
vant, R.j  Excuse  me,  gentlemen,  [Aside.\  'Tis  the  seal  of 
my  friend,  Lawyer  Dillon.  A  lawyer's  letter  I  have  a 
special  horror  of,  particularly  in  troublesome  times. 

[Reads  and  seems  disturbed — Magdalene  approaches 
him. 

Mag.  Gerald,  you  seem  disturbed  ] 

Ger.  No,  dearest,   no  ;  our  guests  will  feel  neglected, 
Magdalene.  [Magdalene  leaves  and  approaches  the  Colonel 
and  Hans — Gerald  continues  reading,  and  his  emo- 
tion increases. 

Ches.  Madam,  I  have  to  ask  pardon  for  the  sudden  in- 
terruption and  uneasiness  we  have  caused  you.  I  hope 
you  forgive  us  ? 

Mag.  Sir,  I  should  rather  crave  your  pardon,  if  my  wel- 
come was  chilled  by  an  alarm,  at  which,  in  these  times, 
you  cannot  wonder.  [Gerald  finishes  reading  the  letter. 

Ches.  And  now,  madam,  in  bidding  you  farewell — 

Ger.  You  are  not  going  to-night,  Colonel ;  will  not  the 
morning  serve  1 

Ches.  I  expect  some  important  dispatches  await  me  on 
the  road  to  Dublin,  and  thither  we  must  journey  at  once, 
sir ;  if  you  will  do  us  the  additional  favour  to  put  us  in 
the  way. 

Ger.  A  faithful  servant  of  mine  shall  conduct  you,  and 
his  presence  will  secure  you  from  further  molestation ; 
but  before  you  go,  Colonel,  another  cup  of  wine — the  stir- 
rup cup,  as  you  call  it,  or,  as  we  say  in  Ireland,  the  Deoch 
an  Dorris — the  drink  at  the  door. 

Ches.  I'll  fill  to  a  toast,  sir.  [Fills  his  cup,  and  addresses 
Magalene.]  Lady,  may  your  husband  ever  find  in  his  ad- 
versaries, the  generous  courtesy  he  has  shown  to  us. 

[Magdalene  curtsies. 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  11 

Ger.  Thanks,  Colonel — Good  speed  to  you. 

[Drinks — Hans  drinks  without  any  demonstration  of 
politeness. 

Ches.  And  now,  boot  and  saddle,  Major  Mansfeldt. 

Ger.  [  With  suppressed  surprise^  Mansfeldt ! 

Hans.  You  zeem  zurprise  at  dat  name. 

Ger.  Why  !   'tis  rather  an  odd  name,  sir,  that's  all. 

Hans.  Hegh  ! 

Ger.  Colonel,  your  hand.  [They  clasp  hands.]  In  times 
like  these,  it  is  well,  when  the  hand  of  a  soldier  is  the 
hand  of  a  gentleman.  Farewell ! 

[Exit  Colonel  Chesham  and  Hans — the  Colonel  and 
Gerald  exchanging  salutation,  and  Hans  retiring 
without  acknowledging  Gerald's  bow. — Magdalene, 
as  Gerald  looks  after  Hans,  takes  his  hand  on  the 
other  side — Gerald  looks  round. 

Ger.  Well,  dearest. 

Mag.  That  letter,  Gerald,  bears  bad  news. 

Ger.  |  Taking  her  tenderly^  in  his  arms.]  Mag,  my  girl, 
'tis  the  first  time  I  ever  wished  to  contradict  you. 

Mag.  Oh,  Gerald — how  kindly  you  tell  of  ruin. 

Ger.  You  have  said  the  word — Magdalene,  I'm  a  ruined 
man.  This  letter  from  Dillon  tells  me,  that  house  and  all 
— ay,  every  acre  I  possessed,  is  forfeited.  And  who  do 
you  think  has  got  old  Ballygrath,  the  seat  of  my  fathers  for 
five  hundred  years  1  Why,  that  Dutch  boor  who  has  just 
left  us. 

Mag-.  What !  he  ?     Then  heaven  help  us  ! 

Ger.  Singular  chance  that  I  should  have  saved  the  life 
of  my  despoiler,  and  that  my  own  threshold  should  have 
proved  the  shelter  of  my  direst  foe. 

Mag.  Think  you  he  knew  it  ? 

Ger.  I'll  swear  he  didn't;  for,  if  he  did,  he's  just  the 
gentleman  who  would  have  turned  me  out  of  my  own 
house  with  very  little  ceremony.  No,  Dillon  sent  me  the 
intelligence  by  express,  and  the  Dutchman  manifestly 
knows  not  the  fortune  that  awaits  him.  Magdalene,  a 
thought  occurs  to  me — the  Colonel  said  he  expected  the 
arrival  of  important  dispatches  from  Dublin  ;  as  sure  as 
fate,  they  are  the  decrees  of  the  Commissioners  allotting 
the  lands — I  must  away  to  Swords. 

Mag    Oh,  Gerald  !  leave  me  not  here. 


12  THE    WHITE    HOUSE  [At'f  I 

Ger.  No,  my  girl,  Phelim  shall  conduct  you  and  the 
children  to  the  Priory  of  Tristeroah,  which  will  shelter 
you  for  the  present.  Do  you  think  I  would  leave  you  here 
to  be  insulted,  perhaps,  in  your  own  home  1 

Mag.  Our  home  no  more — Oh,  bitter  thought. 

Gcr.  Mag,  my  girl,  do  not  despond  thus,  though  I  am 
an  outlaw. 

Mag.  What  a  fearful  sound  has  that  word,  though  I 
know  not  quite  its  meaning. 

Ger.  Why,  my  dear,  being  out  of  the  law  is  rather 
worse  than  beingjn  of  it ;  so  it  must  be  the  devil  intirely. 
But  don't  despair-^M  won't  give  up  my  dirty  acres,  Mag, 
quite  so  easy  as  tl?ey  think. 

Mag.  You  would  not  be  so  mad  as  to  resist  them  ] 

Ger.  Not  by  force,  Mag,  but  by  stratagem.  By  good 
luck,  that  Dutchman  neither  knows  my  name,  nor  the 
name  of  my  estate.  Now  I'll  be  off  to  Swords,  and  pre- 
pare a  plan  of  defence  against  him,  that  I  hope  may  bo- 
ther the  Dutchman,  my  girl. 

Mag.  But  if  it  fail — our  home  and  country  are  lost  to 
us. 

Ger.  Well,  even  then,  our  plate  and  jewels  will  furnish 
means  to  bear  us  to  France,  and  there  this  sword,  which 
fii'st  I  drew  as  a  volunteer  in  the  cause  of  my  country, 
nust  serve  me  for  a  profession  in  a  foreign  land — but  even 
there,  though  absent  from  Ireland,  we  shall  be  amongst 
our  countrymen.  Many  an  Irish  refugee  is  there;  for  the 
lily  of  France  gives  glorious  shelter  to  the  exiles  from  the 
land  of  the  Shamrock.  [Exeunt,  R. 

SCENE  II. — Another  'Room  in  BallygartJi  House. 

Enter  AGATHA  and  PHELIM,  L. 

Aga.  You  must  order  the  orses  immediately,  Phelim — 
1  must  go  to  the  convent  directly. 

Phe.  You  going  to  a  convent,  Aggy?  you  ! 

Aga.  Yes.   [Sighing.]  I'm  going,  Phelim. 

Phe.  Well,  I  never  could  have  thought  of  your  going 
to  a  convent. 

Aga.  Why,  Phelim,  these  are  such  bad  times,  that  no 
young  man  can  think  of  marrying  now — a  girl  may  as  well 
go  to  a  convent  as  not. 


SciSK  II.]  OF    THE    PEPPERS.  13 

Pke.  Then  you  are  determined  on  a  convent. 

Aga.  Why,  I'm  going  only  on  trial  at  first;  my  lady  is 
going — and  so  i  am  to  follow  her. 

'Pke.  Then  you  are  not  going  directly. 

Aga.  Not  directly. 

Phe.  Oh! 

Aga.  I  would,  though,  only  our  master  bid  me  go  to 
Swords  first — the  moment  I'm  done  there,  I'll  go  to  a  nun- 
nery ;  it's  the  safest  place  in  these  times  for  a  young  wo- 
man who  has  no  one  to  protect  her. 

Phe.  Oil,  Aggy,  if  you'd  only  give  me  the  right  to  pro- 
tect you. 

[Attempts  to  take  her  round  the  waist — she  runs  away. 

Aga.  Well,  I  never  saw  the  like  o'  that — So,  sir,  be- 
cause I  say  a  word  about  protection,  you  make  up  to  me, 
as  if  there  wasn't  Mick  Mullohawn,  and  Dennis  Delany, 
and  Peter  Purcell,  and  Roger  O'Raflferty. 

Phe.  That  rake  Rafferty,  whom  you  never  knew  till  last 
week. 

Aga.   Well,  I'll  know  more  of  him  before  long. 

Phe.  Why  talk  thus  of  the  acquaintances  of  yesterday 
to  me,  who  have  known  you  from  childhood.  Can  you 
forget  how  we  have  run  in  the  wild  glen,  and  plucked  wild 
flowers  together  ?  Oh,  Aggy — I  love  you  now  as  dearly 
as  I  loved  you  then. 

DUET. 

Phe.     Oh,  don't  you  remember  the  beautiful  glade, 

Where  in  childhood  together  we  playfully  strayed, 
Where  wreaths  of  wild  flowers  so  often  I've  made, 

Thy  tresses  so  brightly  adorning  ? 
Both.    Oh,  light  of  heart  and  foot  were  then 
The  happy  children  of  the  glen ; 
The  cares  that  shade  the  brows  of  inen, 
Ne'er  darken  childhood's  morning. 

Aga.    Oh,  who  can  forget  the  young  innocent  hours 

We  have  passed  in  the  shade  of  our  home's  happy  bowers, 
When  the  treasure  we  sought  for  was  only  wild  flowers, 
Arid  we  thought  ourselves  rich  when  we  fpund  them. 

Both.    Oh,  where's  the  tie  that  friends  e'er  knew 
So  freei  from  stain,,  so  firm,  so  true, 
As  links  that  with  the  wild  flow'rs  grew, 

•     -X"~      And  in  sweet  fetters  bound  them.  [Exeunt,  R. 


THE    WHITE    HORSE  J-ACT  f 

SCENE  111  The  Village  of  Swords. -Round  Tower  and 
Cathedral  in  the  distance— Stone  Cross  in  the  middle 
of  the  **reet~a  Public  House,  L.  s.  F,,  the  sign  of  the 
"  Pig  and  Whistle." 

DARBY  DONAGHUE,  the  Landlord,  serving  the  Peasants  with 

drm/c— tie  PORTREEVE  and  a  couple  ^BURGESSES  in 

consultation  at  the  Stone  Gross— they  come  forward  when 

the  Curtain  rises,  and  Darby  Donaghue  joins  them. 

Port    I  tell  you,  fellow-townsmen,  something  must  be 

r™ 6  r%;  °n?Ur  °f  the  countlT-  What  do  you  say  ] 
[Tke  Villagers  shout  faintly.]  Right,  boys,  right!  I  see 
your  spirit  is  up 

Dar.  I  tell  you,  Mister  Portreeve,  there  is  no  use  in  try- 
ing  to  get  up  a  skrimmage.  Just  tell  the  boys  to  be  quiet, 
and  when  they've  sold  their  pigs,  spend  their  money  like 
dacent  men,  in  getting  drunk  at  the  Pig  and  Whistle 

fort.  Darby  Donaghue,  I  think  you  have  been  setting 
them  the  example  yourself,  or  you  would  not  presume  to 
to  address  me  in  that  manner.  Remember,  I  am  the  Por- 
treeve of  this  borough. 

Dar  So  you  want  to  come  over  me  with  the  grandeur 
Whistle  6  P°rtreeve'  *  am  land^rd  of  the  Pig  and 

Port.  Well,  whistle  for  your  pig,  sir,  but  don't  pre- 
sume to  interfere  with  my   authority.     Countrymen—the 
ountry  never  can  get  on  unless  we  make  a  stand. 

Dar.  That's  a  queer  way  of  getting  on,  and  if  that's 
your  plan,  why  didn't  you  act  upon  it  the  other  day  at 
.he  battle;  it's  rather  late  to  make  a  stand  now,  and  by 
the  same  token,  I  did  not  see  you  in  the  field  Where 
were  you  then  ]  Where  were  you  at  the  skrimmage  of 
bkernes  ?— the  rising  of  Balrothery,  and  the  fight  of  Fel- 
trum  ? — Eh  ! 

Port.  I  and  the  Burgesses  in  Council  assembled,  were 
engaged  in  taking  measures  for  your  safety. 

Dar.  And  no  man  fitter  to  do  that  same,  seeing  that  you 
are  a  tailor;  but  take  my  advice,  and  have  nothino-  to  do 
with  any  measures  but  your  own  parchment  ones. 

Port.  Darby  Donaghue,  you  forget  yourself.  Fellow- 
:ouritrymen,  hear  me— here  are  some  resolutions  I  have 


SCENE  TIT.] 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  15 


prepared.  [Displays  a  long  paper — the  Villagers  shout — 
strutting  about  consequentially^  There,  Darby  Donaghue 
— they  will  support  their  Portreeve  ! 

Dar.  Do  you  think  it's  for  you  they  are  shouting — Cock 
you  up,  indeed  !  No,  'tis  for  Master  Gerald  Pepper. 

[Villagers  shout. 

Enter  GERALD,  PHELIM,  and  AGATHA. 

Ger.  Well,  boys,  I'm  glad  to  see  you — What  are  you 
doing  here,  Mister  Portreeve  1 

Port.  Here,  Master  Pepper,  are  some  resolutions  I  have 
prepared. 

Ger.  Worthy  Portreeve,  take  my  advice,  and  keep  all 
your  resolution  for  yourself,  for  I  assure  you,  you'll  want 
it ;  [To  Villagers.]  and  you,  boys,  be  as  quiet  as  mice,  for 
I  can  tell  you,  there's  a  cat  abroad  with  mighty  long  claws, 
that  will  play  old  scratch  with  you  if  you  stir. 

Port.  Master  Pepper,  these  fellows  are  full  of  spirit. 

Ger.  Which  Darby  Donaghue  can  account  for;  eh, 
Darby  ]  Worthy  Portreeve,  the  spirit  which  men  get  in 
a  public  house  is  poor  stuff — no  offence  to  you,  Darby,  at 
the  same  time. 

Port.  But  I  have  yet  to  notice  our  rights  and  privileges, 
our  tenures — our — and  so  on. 

Dar.  It's  easy  for  you,  a  tailor,  to  say,  sew  on. 

Port.  Master  Pepper,  must  we  forfeit  our  honour  ? 

Ger.  All  I  can  tell  you  is,  sir,  that  they  are  forfeiting 
our  property  as  fast  as  they  can. 

Port.  Our  property ! 

Ger.  I  am  sorry  to  say,—|||Bbw  it  to  my  cost,  for  they 
have  not  left  me  an  acre.  [Villagers  express  sorrow.]  Now, 
what  do  you  say  to  that  1 

Port.  [Looking  at  the  Burgesses  dolefully.]  We'll  re- 
tire, and  consider  the  subject. 

[Exeunt  Portreeve  and  Burgesses,  L. 

Ger.  He's  gone,  and  he's  no  loss,  for  he'll  never  want 
a  goose  as  long  as  he's  alive  himself.  Now,  boys,  listen 
to  me  ! 

Vil.  We  will,  Master  Gerald :  yo  i  were  always  our 
friend. 

Ger.  And  am  still,  boys,  and  I  tell  you,  keep  quiet.  I 
have  told  you  that  all  my  lands  are  forfeited. 


16  THE    WHITK    HORSE  [Act  I. 

Omnes.  Shame  !  shame  ! 

Ger.  Now,  boys,  that's  not  right !  at  least,  I  think  so. 
For,  upon  my  word,  I  think  I  could  take  care  of  my  own 
property  as  well  as  another,  boys. 

Dar.  And  a  good  landlord  you  were  always. 

Ger.  And  a  foreign  stranger  amongst  you  wouldn't  be 
natural. 

Omnes.  No  !  no  ! 

Ger.  Well,  now  listen  to  me.  There's  a  big  blackguard, 
with  a  long  sword  by  his  side,  coming  down  here  to  take 
my  property  from  me ;  but,  before  he  can  take  it,  you 
know  he  must  find  it,  do  you  perceive  1 

Dar.  Not  all  on't. 

Ger.  You  see,  boys,  this  fellow  who's  coming  down, 
doesn't  know  my  place  any  more  than  the  man  in  Jericho, 
and  of  course,  he  must  ask  for  it  to  find  it.  Now,  spread 
far  and  wide  over  the  barony,  that  this  marauder  is  com- 
ing, and  you  and  all  your  friends  must  remember,  that  any 
stranger  asking  the  way  to  Ballygarth,  must  get  for  an- 
swer, that  nobody  knows  such  a  place. 

Dar.  That's  elegant ! 

Ger.  None  of  you  know  the  way,  boys,  do  you  ? 

Omnes.  Not  one ! 

Ger.  I  knew  you  wouldn't — you  never  took  a  run  with 
the  dogs  over  my  green  hills,  nor  you  never  got  a  glass  of 
whiskey  from  the  kind  Misthress,  nor  you  never  got  a 
warm  seat  by  my  kitchen  fire  !  You  don't  know  such  a 
place  as  Ballygarth,  boys  1 

Omnes.  Hurra  !  hurra  !  g^^ 

Ger.  I  see  you're  up  to  lW*and  you,  Darby  Donaghue, 
if  any  one  asks  for  my  name,  give  him  your  own,  say — 
"  Dunna  who."  And  if  he  asks  you  for  a  guide — for  you 
know  he  must  come  to  the  Pig  and  Whistle — recommend 
him  me. 

Dar.  You,  Master  Gerald  1 

Ger.  Yes. — I'll  put  myself  into  the  shape  of  a  bog-trot- 
ter ;  and  if  I  don't  lead  him  a  dance  that  will  astonish  him, 
may  I  be  pickled  for  fasting  fare,  and  mashed  up  with  badl 
potatoes.  And  now,  boys,  some  of  you  must  lend  me  your 
clothes. 

1st  Vil.  I  will,  sir ! 

Ger.  Tut,  man !  you're  too  much  of  a  gentleman. 


SCENE  III.] 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  17 


2d  Vil.  I  will,  sir ! 

Ger.  Pho  !  You're  another  flower  of  the  flock  ;  but  if 
there's  a  wild  bird  amongst  ye,  whose  feathers  are  ruffled 
a  bit,  he'll  oblige  me  to  shake  down  his  plumage  here,  and 
I'l  give  him  gold  for  it. 

Rajf.  [  Very  ragged.']  Here,  Master  Gerald ! 

Ger.  You're  the  posy  !  the  wild  and  picturesque  flower 
fit  to  bloom  in  a  bog — what's  your  name  '1 

Raf.  Rafferty! 

Ger.  A  capital  name !  I  wouldn't  ask  a  better.  Raf- 
ferty, you  must  sell  me  your  clothes — I'll  give  you  a  gui- 
nea for  every  button  you  have  on  them,  and  that  won't  be 
much.  I  couldn't  afford  to  pay  you  at  the  same  rate  for 
the  skewers  ;  now  into  the  house  with  you,  and  take  a  ten- 
der adieu  of  your  finery,  for  it's  the  last  you'll  see  of  it — 
away  with  you.  [Rafferty  enters  house.\  Darby,  do  you  fol- 
low him,  and  when  the  duds  are  off,  shake  them  out  of  the 
window,  for  though  I  have  bought  the  property,  i  don't 
want  the  tenantry  with  it.  [Darby  enters  house.]  Phelirn, 
is  your  lady  safely  bestowed  1 

Phe.  She  is,  sir ;  safe  in  the  priory. 

Ger.  I  say,  boys,  I  wish  this  Dutchman  to  see  you  mer- 
ry. Here's  a  girl — [To  Agatha,}  will  dance  any  two  of 
you  down.  [  Villagers  seem  disinclined.]  What,  not  dance  1 
they  must  be  sad  days  in  Ireland  when  a  jig  is  refused  ; 
but,  Aggy,  though  they  won't  dance  with  you,  they'll  be 
glad  to  hear  you  sing  some  sweet  song  of  your  own  land. 
That  is  left  us,  at  all  events — for  let  our  foes  strip  us  of 
what  they  may,  they  can  never  rob  us  of  our  native  music. 

[Exit  into  house,  L.  s.  E. 

SONG.-r-AGATHA. 

Oh,  native  music,  beyond  comparing, 

The  sweetest  far  on  the  ear  that  falls ; 
Thy  gentle  numbers  the  heart  remembers, 
Thy  strains  enchain  us  in  memory's  thralls ; 
Thy  tones  endearing, 
Or  sad,  or  cheering, 
The  absent  soothe  on  a  foreign  strand. 
Oh,  who  can  tell 
What  a  holy  spell 
Is  in  the  sang  of  our  native  land. 

[The  last  three  lines  repeated  in  Chorut. 
The  .proud  and  lowly,  the  pilgrim  holy, 
The  lover,  kneeling  at  beauty's  shrine^ 


18  THE    WHITE    HORSE 


[ACT  I. 


The  bard  who  dreams  by  the  haunted  streams, 
All,  all,  are  touched  by  thy  power  divine. 
The  captive  cheerless, 
The  soldier  fearless, 
The  mother,  taught  by  nature's  hand. 
Her  child,  when  weeping, 
Will  lull  to  sleeping, 
"With  some  sweet  song  of  her  native  land. 

[CJwrus  as  before. 

[Hans  Mansfeldt  shouts  without,  L.  u.  E. 
Phe.  Here's  the  Dutchman,  Darby!     Darby!  [Goes  to 
house  and  calls  out.~\  Darby  Donaghue  ! 

Enter  DARBY  from  house%  L.  s.  E. 

Dar.  Here,  your  honour,  here  ! 

Phe.  Run  and  take  his  horse  !       [Exit  Darby,  L.  u.  E. 
Hans.  [  Without ]  Ouse  !  ouse  ! 

Darby.  [  Without,  L.  u.  E.]  This  way,  your  honour,  this 
way ! 

Enter  HANS  and  DARBY,  L.  u.  E. 

[Bowing  him  in.]  Your  servant,  sir.  What's  your  will  ? 

Hans.  Zome  drink  vor  myself  voorst.  [Exit  Darby  into 
house.]  Donderskind !  vaut  a  bad  roats,  and  vaut  a  back 
o'  plockheads  all  dis  beople's  !  Nopoty  knows  notin  !  I 
dink  I  have  de  name  roight.  [Takes  out  a  piece  of  folded 
parchment,  and  reads]  Ya !  Ballagarde  !  Mynheer  Beb- 
ber.  [Puts  up  parchment]  Veil !  dis  is  some  goot  for  to 
voight  for.  Ven  you  vins  a  vield  o'  pattle  in  oder  goun- 
try,  it  is  notin  but  to  kill  von  anoder  dis  day,  vor  to  voight. 
again  to-mawrow  ;  but  in  Irelandt,  veri  you  vins  the  vields 
o'  pattle,  you  vins  de  vields  demselfs.  Ha  !  dat  is  goot ! 
I  like  to  voight  in  Irelant !  Ya  !  and  I  dink  de  people's 
demselfs  likes  to  voight  too  ! 

Re-enter  DARBY  from  house,  with  a  tankard,  which 
HANS  drinks  from. 

Ya,  dat  is  goot  I  Wasn't  I  dursty  !  [Hands  bach  the  tan- 
hard,  empty.] 

Dar.  [Looking  into  it.]    Ton  my  word  you  wor,  sur. 

Hans.  Mine  vriend,  do  you  know  von  blace  somevere 
bout  here  call  Ballagarde  ? 

Dar.  Ball— ball— what,  sir  ] 


rtOKWE   HI.] 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  19 


Hans.  Ballagarde  ! 

Dar.  Indeed,  not  one  o'me  knows  the  place,  sir. 

Hans.  Ha  !  plockhead,  loike  the  rest.  Ax  all  dese 
beople  here  about  dat  place. 

Dar.  Come  here,  .you  chaps.  [Villagers  advance.]  Do 
you  know  such  a  place  as  Bunna — Bunna — Breena,  is  it, 
sir? 

Hans.     No,  Ballagarde  !     [  Villagers  shake  their  heads 

Phe.  Not  exactly  ! 

Raf.  May  be  'twould  be  Bunratty,  your  honour  would 
want? 

Hans.  No,  Bun  tiefel ! 

Dar.  I  don't  know  that  place  either,  your  honour. 

Hans.  Splut  I  do  you  know  who  you  are  yourzelf  1 

Dar.  Donaghue  ! 

Hans.  Tiefel !  he  dunna  who !  Ha,  ha  !  Is  dere  nobo- 
ty  to  shew  me  mine  roat  ? 

Dar.  There  is  a  boy  in  the  house,  drinking,  who  knows 
the  country  well. 

Hans.  Gall  him  to  me  !  Gall  him  !     Gall  the  poy  ! 

Dar.  [Calling.]  Here,  Rafferty  !  Rafferty ! 

Ger.  [  Without.]  Here  I  am,  your  sowl !  [Sings. 

Enter  GERALD,  disguised  as  a  ragged,  red-haired  peasant , 
from  house,  L.  s.  E. 

Hans.   You  said  dis  vas  a  poy  ! 

Ger.  Well,  I'm  not  a  girl,  am  1 1 

Hans.  Are  you  de  kite  ? 

Gf.  [Looking  at  his  rags.]  A  kite  ?  Faith,  you  might 
By  me,  I  dare  say,  with  a  strong  string  and  a  high  wind. 

Hans.  Do  you  know  de  fay  ] 

Ger.  Know  the  way — the  way  to  fly  is  it] 

Hans.  No,  the  way  to  Ballagarde  ] 

Ger.  To  be  sure  I  do — where  is  it  ] 

Hans.  Vere!   I  vant  you  to  dell  me  dat. 

Ger.  Well,  describe  the  thing  to  me,  and  I'll  imagine 
it  immediately. 

Hans.  Imashin  !   splut !   you  no  kite  if  you  not  know. 

Ger.  You're  a  stupid  man  :  that's  not  the  way'  we  do 
things  here  at  all.  You  see  I'm  a  bard. 

Hans.  A  bart,  vat  is  dat? 

Ger.  I'm  a  puet ! 


20  THE    WHITE    HORSE 


[ACT  i. 


Hans.  Ah,  boor  man  !     I  bity  you. 

Ger.  Pity,  did  you  say  pity  ]  is  it  pity  me,  that  is,  the 
bard  of  Green  Erin.  Whoo !  thank  you  for  nothing  ! 
keep  your  pity  to  curl  your  hair  !  I  wouldn't  exchange 
places  wid  you,  I  can  tell  you,  wherever  'tis  your're  go- 
ing. 

Hans.  I  vant  to  go  to  Ballagarde. 

Ger.  Oh,  I  think  I  know  where  you  mane  now ;  who 
lives  in  it  ] 

Hans.  Von  Bepper  ! 

Ger.  Pepper  ?  Phew !  by  dad,  you  might  sarch  half 
the  counthry,  and  not  find  out  the  right  man  you  want; 
for  them  Peppers  is  as  thick  as  rabbits  in  the  back  of  a 
ditch — the  counthry  is  over  run  wid  them  ! 

Hans.  Indeed  ! 

Ger.  Sure  ^here's  no  end  to  them.  There's  not  names 
enough  in  the  alphabet  for  them,  so  we're  obleeged  to  in- 
vint  names  to  circumscribe  them.  There  is  a  dark  wicked 
thief  that  is  called  Black  Pepper — and  a  whey-faced 
blackguard  that  is  called  White  Pepper — and  a  bull-head- 
ed vagabone,  with  a  carrotty  wig,  we  call  Red  Pepper — 
and  a  fine  sthrapping  fellow,  the  full  of  a  door,  that  we 
call  Whole  Pepper — and  a  dawnshee  craythur,  about  as 
high  as  my  knee,  we  call  Ground  Pepper,  and  a  poor 
cripple  among  them,  that  limps  as  he  goes^  we  call  Pep- 
per-corn— and  he  has  a  spiteful  little  wife,  that  we  call 
"  Ginger" — and  I  think  that's  a  high  saisoned  family  for 
you — They're  a  perfect  cruet-stand  in  themselves. 

Hans.  Vat  a  family  ! 

Ger.  Now,  which  of  them  is  it  you  want] — Black  Pep- 
per, White  Pepper,  Red  Pepper,  Whole  Pepper,  Pepper- 
Corn,  or  Little  Ginger  ] 

Hans.  Splut  !  I  don't  know — but  Ballagarde  is  de 
blace. 

Ger.  Arrah,  then  !  where  is  it  at  all — Darby,  would  it 
be  the  castle,  I  wondher  1 

Hans.  Ha !  to  be  zure — de  gastle,  dat  is  de  blace. — 
[^sjcfc.]  I  vill  dry  de  gastle  vurst,  however. 

Ger.  Oh,  then  I'll  bring  you  there  straight:  will  you 
start  now  1 

Hans.  Nien  ! 

Ger.  At  nine — that  will  be  rather  late. 


SCENE  HZ.] 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  21 


Hans.  1  zay  no — 

Ger.  But  I  say  yes  ! 

Hans.  Splut !   1  say  nien  in  my  language,  dat  is  no. 

Ger.  Oh,  nine  is  no — in  Dutch. 

Hans.  Ya  ! 

Ger.  Then  I  suppose  eighteen  means  yis — for  we  lo- 
gicians say,  two  neggitations  makes  a  confirmation. 

Hans.  Ah,  dat  is  boetry.  I  don't  oonderstand  boetry. 
[To  Darby.]  I  vant  zomeding  vor  mine  dinner. 

Ger.  Well,  if  you  don't  undherstand  rhyme,  you're  up 
to  rayson,  I  see,  by  axin  for  your  dinner ;  so  get  a  snap 
o'something  at  wanst,  for  we  have  no  time  to  lose.  [Hans 
caters  the  house,  L.  u.  E.,  with  Darby. — Looking  about.] 
Aggy  !  Phelim,  where  is  Aggy  1 

P/ie.  She  is  gone  to  the  Priory,  sir. 

Ger.  Then  you  must  go  after  her,  for  I've  work  for  her 
to  do  ;  arid  you,  too,  Phelim.  First  you  must  lead  Don- 
aghue  arid  a  party  of  fellows  to  the  bog,  near  the  Snipe's 
Shallow,  where  they  must  remain  concealed  until  I  shall 
join  them.  Then  proceed  to  the  Priory,  conduct  your 
mistress  to  Ballygarth,  arid  let  Aggy  dress  herself  up  as 
an  old  crone,  and  go  off  to  the  old  ruined  house,  where 
she  must  wait  for  me  :  get  a  couple  of  pigs  about  the 
place,  and  a  sheaf  of  straw  by  way  of  a  feather  bed — a 
blanket — a  three-legged  stool — a  salt  herring,  and  a  few 
potatoes.  Be  off,  now.  [Phelim  is  going.}  I  say,  Phelim, 
.she.  may  as  well  have  a  bottle  of  whiskey  too,  [Exit  Phe- 
um,'R.]  for  I  suspect  that  poor  devil  of  a  Dutchman  will 
'  want  something  to  refresh  him,  and  I  don't  mean  to  kill  him 
entirely.  And  now  my  plans  are  ripening  into  execution. 
[Looks  down  at  d?-ess.\  What  a  figure  I  cut,  to  be  sure  ! 
My  own  dogs  would  hunt  me  from  my  door.  Gerald 
Pepper,  is  it  worthy  of  an  Irish  gentleman,  and  the  des- 
^cendant  of  an  old  family,  to  make  a  mummer  of  himself, 
and  play  off  as  many  tricks  as  a  fox !  But  why  does  the 
fox  play  tricks  1  Because  he's  hunted  !  and  so  am  I — 
the  oppressed  and  the  pursued  alike  are  driven  to  strata- 
gem to  escape  destruction. 

Enter  HANS  and  DARBY  from  the  house,  L.  s.  E. 
Hans.  You  are  sure,  now,  dis  kite  know  de  vay. 
T)ar.  Oh,  he  knows  the  whole  country  round.       [Exit. 


22  THE    WHITE    HORSE 


[ACT  I. 


Ger.  Aye,  and  square,  too — and  thriangular  into  the 
bargain.  And  if  you'd  want  any  sporting — I'm  the  fel- 
7ow  to  show  it  you — hunting,  shooting,  fishing,  coortin, 
fighting,  or  marryin',  which  is  much  the  same  thing ; 
and  I  can  write  songs  for  you,  and  sing  them  too  ;  and  if 
you  should  be  killed,  it's  myself  could  put  an  iligant  epi- 
thet over  you.  Whoo  !  I'm  the  boy  for  every  thing. 

SONG. 

Whoo !  I'm  a  ranting,  roving  blade, 

Of  never  a  thing  I  was  ever  afraid, 

I'm  a  gintleman  born,  and  I  scorn  a  trade, 

And  I'd  be  a  rich  man  if  my  debts  was  paid. 

But  my  debts  is  worth  something — this  truth  they  instill, 
That  pride  makes  us  fall,  all  against  our  will, 
For  'twas  pride  that  broke  me — I  was  happy  until 
I  was  ruined  all  out  by  my  tailor's  bill. 

I'm  the  finest  guide  that  ever  you  see, 
I  know  every  place  of  curosity, 
From  Ballinafad  unto  Tander-a-gee, 
And  if  you're  for  sport  come  along  wid  me 

I'll  lade  you  sportin'  round  about, 
We've  wild-ducks,  and  widgeon,  and  snipe,  and  throut, 
And  I  know  where  they  are  and  what  they're  about, 
And  if  they're  not  at  home  then  I'm  sure  they're  out. 

The  miles  in  this  country  much  longer  be, 
But  that  is  a  saving  of  time  you  see, 
For  two  of  our  miles  is  equal  to  three, 
Which  shortens  the  road  in  a  great  degree. 

And  the  roads  in  this  place  is  so  plenty,  we  say 
That  you've  nothing  to  do  but  to  find  your  way, 
If  your  hurry's  not  great,  and  you've  time  to  delay, 
You  can  go  the  short  cut — that's  the  longest  way 

And  Til  show  you  good  drinking  too, 
I  know  the  place'  where  the  whiskey  grew, 
A  bottle  is  good,  when  it's  not  too  new, 
And  I'm  fond  of  one — but  I  doat  on  two ! 

Truth  is  scarce  when  liars  is  near, 
But  squeeling  is  plenty  when  pigs  you  shear, 
And  iiiuttoii  is  high  when  cows  is  dear 
And  rint  it  is  scarce  four  times  a  year. 

Such  a  country  for  growing  you  ne'er  did  behowld. 

We  grow  rich  when  we're  poor,  we  grow  hot  when  we're 

cowld, 

And  the  girls  know  that  bashfulness  makes  UB  grow  bowld, 
We  grow  voung  when  we  like,  but  we  never  grow  owld. 

\ 


SCENR  I.]  OF    THE    PEPPERS.  23 

And  the  sivin  small  sinses  grow  natural  here, 
For  praties  has  eyes  and  can  see  quite  clear, 
And  the  kittles  is  singing  with  scalding  tears, 
And  the  corn  fields  is  list'nin'  with  all  their  ears. 

But  along  with  sivin  sinsis  we  have  one  more, 
Of  which  I  forgot  to  tell  you  before, 
It  is  NONSENSE,  spontaneously  gracing  our  shore, 
And  I'll  tell  you  the  rest  when  I  think  of  nlore. 

END    OP    ACT   I. 


ACT       II. 

SCENE  I. — The  Snipe's  Shallow — a  low,  sedgy,  plashy  fore- 
ground, in  the  distance  an  extensive  range  of  bog,  small 
turf  clamps  heaped  in  roics  along  the  surface  of  the  bog. 
A  group  of  men  crouching  under  tall  flaggers  and  bull- 
rushes. 

PHELIM  and  DARBY  DONAGHUE  looking  out,  L.  u.  E. 

Dar.  N  ew,-  boys,  be  on  the  watch,  and  while  you  lie 
down  in  the  rushes  and  keep  yourselves  as  snug  and  as 
secret  as  a  snipe  in  the  sedge,  have  a  good  look-out. 

1st  Pea.  But  what's  all  this  for  1 

Dar.  Because  the  master  may  want  our  help,  no  know- 
ing when,  and  we  must  hang  on  his  path,  and  be  ready 
when  I  give  the  signal.  He  is  coming,  and  is  not  fax*  off 
either.  *_ 

1st  Pea.  But  I  don't  understand  about  this  hide  and 
seek  with  the  villain  that  comes  to  rob  him  of  his  land.  I 
think  the  way  to  settle  the  business  would  be  to  kill  him 
at  once.  I'd  do  it,  and  not  think  much  of  it  either. 

Dar.  Master  Gerald  won't  hear  of  that :  he  charged  me 
beyond  all  things  to  save  the  soldier  from  bodily  harm, 
and  only  to  frighten  him. 

1st  Pea.  The  master  is  too  soft-hearted.  I  wish  I  had 
my  will  of  this  outlandish  robber.  [Looks  at  his  gun. 

Dar.  Dennis,  I'm  afraid  to  trust  you,  a  gun  in  the  hand 
of  a  dark-tempered  man  is  dangerous.  \Takesgunfrom 
Dennis.  Shout  outside,  L.  u.  E.J  Down — down — down — 
lie  low.  [J\fen  conceal  themselves — Darbi/  looks  out — shouts 
outside,  L.  u.  E.]  'Tis  the  masther  and  the  Dutchman.  Ha, 


24  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [Acx  11. 

ha,  ha!  He  has  brought  him  over  the  soft  bog.  The 
Dutchman's  horse  is  stuck  fast,  down  he  goes,  deeper  and 
deeper.  Spur  away,  soldier,  'your  horse  will  not  get  out 
of  that  without  more  help  than  you  can  give.  Ha,  ha ! 
The  Dutchman  is  off,  he  is  up  to  his  knees  in  the  slough, 
and  flounders  like  a  new  caught  salmon. 

[Shout  outside,   L.  u.  E.     Darby  answers  the  shout  and 
exit. 

Hans.  [Outside]  Der  tiefel  !  der  tiefel ! 

Ger.  Aisy  !  aisy  !  you're  out  now ;  come  along,  your 
honour. 

Enter  GERALD  and  HANS,  L.  u.  E.,  muck  splashed  with  mud. 

Hans.  Donder  arid  blitzen,  vot  a  blace  to  pring  me  to ! 
Mine  orse  is  up  to  his  neg,  he  vill  be  lost. 

Ger,  Oh,  no  ;  nothing  is  ever  lost  that  we  leave  in  the 
bog.  He'll  stop  when  he  gets  to  the  bottom. 

Hans.  But  he  vill  be  smoder  ! 

Ger.  Barring  that  he  has  a  touch  of  the  duck  in  him, 
and  can  hould  his  breath  hard,  and  dive  a  taste. 

Hans.  Splut,  vat  a  vool  you  are  ! 

Ger.  It's  not  me's  a  fool — but  the  liorse  was  a  fool  to 
put  his  fut  in  the  soft  place. 

Hans.  Pah  !  no  orse  but  rooste  go  down  dere. 

Ger.  That  shows  how  little  you  know  about  jography. 
I  give  you  my  honour,  an  Irish  horse  would  have  stept 
over  that  as  clane  as  a  new  pin. 

Hans.  But  dat  is  an  Irish  orse ! 

Ger.  Do  you  tell  me  so  ? 

Hans.  Ya! 

Ger.  Oh,  then  it's  keeping  company  with  them  Jarman 
horses  that  has  spylt  him.  It  shows  what  evil  compan- 
ions will  do. 

Hans.  Donderskind !  den  vy  did  you  yourzelf  zink  in 
de  mode  1 

Ger.  Sure  that  was  thrying  to  get  you  out,  only  for  that 
I  wouldn't  be  the  figure  I  am,  bad  luck  to  it,  my  new 
clothes  is  ruined. 

Hans.  Your  new  glothes  ?     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  dat  is  goot. 

Ger.  Why,  being  the  fair  day  at  the  town,  of  course  I 
put  them  on.  Indeed,  I  was  savin  them  up  for  Sundays 
and  holidays,  but  I  think  F  may  take  to  wearing  them  out 


SCENE  1.1  OF    THE    PEPPERS,  23 

J  • 

now.     You  ought  to  thank  this  gentleman  for  helpin  us. 
[Pointing  to  Darby,  who  is*up  the  stage. 

Hans.  Dis  is  anoder  sbentlemans,  I  suppose  \ — [Aside.] 
Mine  Got,  vaut  a  gountry ! 

Ger.  To  be  sure  he's  a  gintleman,  when  he  behaved  as 
sitch.  And  may  be,  sir,  you'd  be  telling  us  would  we  be 
far  from  the  castle  of  Ballygarth  1 

Dar.  You're  not  far  off  it  now.  As  soon  as  you  reach 
the  next  rising  ground  you'll  see  it  before  you — 'tis  the 
next  estate  to  mine. 

Hans.  Your  esdate  !  you  ab  an  esdate  ]     Ha,  ha  ! 

Ger.  [  To  Hans.]  I  say,  your  honour,  as  you're  a  new- 
comer into  the  counthry,  I'd  recommend  you  to  be  civil 
to  the  genthry,  for  they  are  mighty  high.  This  is  a  Mem- 
ber o'  Parliament,  though  you  would't  think  it. 

Dar.  This  is  a  fine  country,  sir  ] 

Hans.  Peautiful  ! — [Aside.]   I  vish  I  vas  out  of  it. 

Dar.  This  estate  of  mine  is  called  Ballydniggle'um. 

Hans.  Goot  name,  dat  Dragle'um ;  vat  mean  Bally  1 

Ger.  Oh,  all  the  names  here  are  poetical  and  descrip- 
tive. Bally  signifies  the  pride  of,  and  Draggle'um  means 
bog,  so  Ballydraggle'um  is  the  pride  of  the  bog  ! 

Hans.  Veil,  and  mine  gastlc  is  Ballagarde  :  now  vaut  is 
dat? 

Ger.  Why,  garth  is  forest,  so  Ballygarth  is  the  pride  of 
the  forest. 

Hans.  Oh,  den,  de  gastle  is  build  in  a  vaurest  ? 

Ger.  Oh,  a  lovely  forest  as  you  would  see  in  a  sum- 
mer's day, 

Hans.  Den  de  dimber  vill  be  gut  down  very  zoon.  Ha, 
ha  !  dimbers  is  money  ! 

Ger.  Thrue  for  you,  sir — limbers  is  money  where  wood 
is  scarce,  and  you  see  all  our  timber  here  is  made  of  bul- 
rushes— but  I  think  we  had  better  be  jogging,  now,  your 
honour. 

Hans,  But  I  gannot  jog  mid  out  mine  orse — vat  vill  1 
do  midout  mine  orse  ] 

Ger.  Oh,  don't  be  afraid  of  losin'  him,  he  can't  run 
away  out  of  where  he  is,  and  we'll  find  him  when  we're 
coming  back. 

Hans.  But  he  vill  be  smoder. 

Ger.  \To  Darby.}  Arrali.  then,  sir,  perhaps  your  honour 


g6  THE    WHITK    1'ORSE  [AcT  If 

would  be  good  enough"  to  ordher  your  tinerils  to  dig  this 
gentleman's  horse  out  of  the  bog,  and  send  him  after  us 
to  Ballygarth  castle. 

Dar.  To  be  sure  I  will.  [  Whistles.  The  men  who  are 
concealed  rusk  out,  and  crowd  round  Hans  and  Gerald. 

Hans.  [Starting.]  Der  tiefel !  vere  did  all  dese  gome 
vrom  ] 

Ger.  Oh,  tinants  are  quite  spontaneous  in  Ireland. 

Hans.  Splut !  did  dey  gome  vrom  de  airth  1 

Ger.  Sure  didn't  we  all  come  from  the  earth. 

Hans.  [Aside.]  I  don't  like  dis  zudden  bopulation. — • 
[Aloud.]  Ve  vill  go  on,  if  you  bleaze. 

Ger.  Indeed,  it's  time  to  be  jogging,  I  think  myself. 
\To  Darby.]  Good  bye,  your  honour,  good  bye,  gintle- 
men,  and  when  you've  dug  up  the  horse  send  him  after 
us,  and  his  honour  here  will  reward  you  handsomely,  arid 
he'll  do  the  same  by  me,  1  know,  in  regard  of  the  cruel 
way  my  new  clothes  is  spylt  with  that  blackguard  bog. — 
[^in^e.J  I  say,  take  off  your  hat  to  the  gintleman. 

Hans.  Nein  !  nein  ! 

Ger.  His  honour,  here,  is  very  polite,  sir,  but  his  hat  is 
so  tight  he  can't  get  it  on  if  he  takes  it  off.  Come  on,  sir, 
step  light,  for  fear  of  another  soft  place. 

[Exeunt  Hans  and  Gerald,  L. 

Dar.  Down,  boys,  and  watch  again,  for  the  masther 
will  have  more  work  for  us.  [The  men  crouch,  and  Darby 
follows  Gerald  and.  Hans,  with  a  cautious  look-out. 

SCENE  II. — The  Priory  of  Tristcrnah. 

Enter  PHELIM  and  AGATHA,  from  door  in  flat. 

Phe.  Now,  Aggy,  you  understand  1 

Aga.  To  be  sure  I  understand,  do  you  think  it's  stupid 
I  am  *?  So,  I  arn  to  go  to  the  old  castle  ] 

Phe.  Yes. 

Aga.  And  pretend  to  be  taking  care  of  it ! 

Phe.  Yes! 

Aga.  And  make  myself  old  and  ugly  1 

Phe.  You  couldn't  do  that,  Aggy  ? 

Aga.  Wait  till  awhile  ago,  and  you'll  see.  [  Throws  the 
hood  of  her  cloak  over  her  head,  and  assumes  an  old  woman's 
voice.]  Well,  your  honour,  it's  three-score  years  and  ten 


II.]  OF    THE    PEPPERS.  27  • 

since  I  came  to  the  place  ;    'tis  a  long  time,  your  hono/ar. 
an   old   woman   now,   though  I  was  once — yetting. 
W-s  of  hood.]  Will  that  do  1 

J'ou  make  a  capital  old  woman. 

Aga.  May  be  you'd  rather  have  an   old  than  a  young 
:e. 
Phe.  I'd  like,  to  begin  with  one  young,  ..fche'd  grow  old 


one. 

he.  I'd  lik 
in  time.  \. 


Aga.  Well,  wait^br  her,  then,  and-  Very  good  work  for 
you.  \  / 

Phe.  Aggy,  you're  a^rogue.      J 

Aga.  There's  a  pair  ofSjs,  IJJielim. 

Phe.  You  saucy  jade,  yjjU're  up  to  every  roguery  ; 
when  you  speak  under  theU/'lifcod,  one  would  fancy  your 
nose  and  chin  met.  J&  ^. 

Aga.  But  they  don't/you  see  :  nether  my  nose  nor  my 
chin  is  in  the  way  of  my  mouth.  **% 

Phe.  I'll  try  thaft'Aggy.  Nv        [Kisses  her. 


Aga.  [Slaps  Phelim'sface.\  You  impudent  fe 

£&&v"  -E'Je  1'  tie  I  -  "  ~~.~  .-"•  •-,:•."""'-'"""    '"'" 


Bless  me,  he  saw  us  ! 
Daughter,  for  shame  ! 

4  -4gY?XHe's   my  cousin,    your   reverence, 
away,  an^sl  don't  know  when  I  may  see 

Friar.  D  ^&gH~f  erT'ffiyT^lufatibil1  '  savour 
fection  than  relSfei^iiship. 

Aga.  We're  botn^f  affection  ate  ^ismures,  sir. 

.    >^  [Convent  bell  sounds,  L. 

Friar.  'Tis  the  converhi.^!—  'tis  fitter  you  were  at 
vespers,  than  at  such  leav^fflMg.  If  I  were  your  father 
confessor,  I  would  maj^jou  perform  a  penance. 

^r  ^V  [Exit,  D.  F. 

Aga.  You  myJferfner  confessor,  inde^NU  I  wouldn't  have 
such  an  uglyffcffher  confessor  as  that,  if  iN^yas  obliged  to 
go  to  the  n£xt  parish  for  another  ;  and  his  impudence,  too 
—  convert  bell,  indeed,  just  as  if  nobody  kisseoS^girl  be- 
fore. /Convent  bell,  to  be  sure  !  I  can  tell  you,  mgrold 
gentleman,  there's  a  story  of  one  of  youi 


28  THE    WHITK    HOUSE  [Acx  II. 

-     ' 

risternah  here,  and  I  could  let  you  know  what  becami 
of  ins  minding  the  convent  bell — if  I  dare. 

SONG. — AGATHA. 

here  once  was  a  novice,  as  I've  heard  tell, 

Jknovice  of  some  renown  ; 
Whofce  raven  hair  in  ringlets  fell,  « 

O'eiPlus  yet  unshaven  crown.  ./f 

But  his^ws  as  yet  he  had  never  said,    ^jr 
Except  tol^)lue-eyed  blooming  maid. 
And  she  had  iiever  confessed  till  now.^ 
To  that  novice\*ho  yet  had  not  majBa  vow ; 
So  pious  she  grev^-that  early  andpate 
She  was  tapping  a%ne  at  the  convent  gate. 
And  so  often  she  weii^er  sj^T to  tell, 
That  the  villager scallce^^  the  Convent  Belle. 
Ding  " 
My  a    _ 
My  song's  of  a  Coyj^it  Belli 

The  novice  contiBraed  the  maid 

And  swiftl^ffine  months  flew  roi 
He  had  nea^  passed  his  trial  year, 

Beforejjs  was  guilty  found. 
But  thejffsuspicion  began  to^ 
So  thj^owl  he  c^* 


Thiroiaiden  he  wedded  next  morning  tide, 
fid  his  penitent  pale  was  his  blooming  bride, 
he  Prior  he  stormed  at  the  bridegroom  meeV 


ile75n  hischeek, 

"  Good  father,  indeed  I  have  acted  well, 
I  was  only  ringing  the  Convent  Belle." 
^  Ding  dong, 

V  My  song, 

My  so»g's  of  a  Convent  Belle. 


-._-  _.,-'- -— -  „-..'— .i 

SCENE  III. — Dusk. — A  ruined  Castellated  House,  greater 
part  of  the  roof,  gone — ike  mullioyd  of  the  windows 
broken — part  of  the  walls  fallen.^- A  window  R.  u.  E. — 
the  stage  opens  at  tlie  back  wjim  staircase — broken  bal- 
lusters — a  table  and  rushlfyfit  upon  it. 

Enter  GERALD  awdTJJANs  up  tketrap  at  the  back. 


Ger.  There's  an  jJJfgant  place  for  y^. 

Hans.  [Horrifi&Z.]  Vaut  a  blace  ! 

Ger.  I  thought  you'd  be  astonished  1         *\ 

Hans,  ^'fam  ! 

Gcr.jJ&n't  that  an  illigant  castle  ]  and  you  see  they 
hava»b'een  expecting  you,  for  they've  got  up  an  illumina- 
tion. {Points  to  rushlight. 


SCENE  TIT.]  OF   THR    PKPPEKS  29 

Hans.  [Abstractedly.}  Midout  a  vail,  midout  a  roof,  mi- 
dout  a  vindher  !  Zappermint ! 

Ger.  It's  a  fine  airy  house,  and  nothing  to  interrupt 
the  view  from  it. 

Hans.  Splut !  noting  inteet.  Vy,  you  vool,  you  tell  me 
dis  vas  build  in  a  vaurest. 

Ger.  And  so  it  was  built  in  a  forest,  but  that's  a  long 
time  ago,  for  this  is  a  fine,  ould,  anshint  place,  as  you  may 
see  ;  none  o'  your  flirty,  little,  upstart  places,  but  the  rale 
respectable  antiquity. 

Hans.  But  you  tell  me  dere  vas  voots. 

Ger.  And  so  there  was — but  woods  won't  last  for  ever. 

Hans.  Splut!   I  dought  I  voot  gut  down  de  dimbers. 

Ger.  Ay,  and  that  was  very  cute  of  you,  but  there  was 
a  janius  in  the  family  who  thought  of  that  before  you, 
and  that's  the  way,  in  my  own  beautiful  art  of  poethry, 
that  the  janiuses  who  goes  before  us,  is  taking  dirty  ad- 
vantages of  us,  and  sayin'  the  things  we  wor  goin'  to  say, 
only  they  said  them  before  ;  in  short,  takin'  the  bread  out 
of  our  mouths. 

Hans.  Not  in  dis  gountry. 

Ger.  Why  not  ? 

Hans.  Because  I  never  see  no  pread  in  nopoty's  mout 
nere  :  in  dis  gountry  dey  have  notin*  but  botatoes  ! 

Ger.  And  the  finest  thing  under  heaven  is  the  same 
praties,  exceptin'  only  the  people  that  ates  them  ! 

Hans.  I  vouldn't  lif  in  dis  ouse  not  for  notin'. 

Ger.  But  remember,  there  is  land  along  wid  the  house. 

Hans.  Ya  !   verachtig  !   and  de  lands  is  goot — eh  1 

Ger.  Oh,  beautiful !  there  is  nigh  hand  two  hundred 
acres  of  bog — that  was  a  part  of  it  I  brought  you  over 
to-^ay. 

Hons.  Blitzen,  1  vis  it  vas  burnt. 

'.  Ger.  That's  the  use  of  it — it  makes  beautiful  fire  ;  and 
there's  some  wild  rocks  up  beyant,  where  the  goats  get 
very  nice  pickin'  if  they're  not  particular. 

Hans.  Rocks  and  goats — bah  ? 

Ger.  Oh,  that's  what  the  lamb  says — bah  ;  not  the  goat 
— it  wouldn't  feed  lambs,  supposing  you  had  them ! 

Plans.  Donderskind  !   de  ouse  is  empty. 

'Ger.  Well,  an  empty  house  is  better  than  a  bad  tenant, 
any  clay  in  the  year ! 


30  THE    WHTTR    HORSE  [Acrll 

Hans.  De  shimbleys  be  all  grooked. 
Ger.  No  wondher — you'll    be   crooked   yourself   when 
you're  half  as  ould  as  they  are.     Hallo,  there  ! 
Hans.  Dat  is  a  vine  voice  vor  atin  rost  bif. 
Ger.  Hallo  !  are  you  comin  here  to-day  at  all  1 

Enter  AGATHA,  L.  3d  E. 

Aga.  Aye,  aye,  I'm  coming. 

Ger.  Young  woman  ! 

Hans.  [Astonished.]  Young  voomans  ? 

Ger.  Whist !  to  be  sure — always  say  young  woman  to 
an  ould  one,  and  she'll  be  plazed  with  you. 

Hans.  Young  voomans,  how  is  all  de  vamily  ? 

Aga.  There  were  two  killed  this  morning. 

Hans.  [Aside.]  All  de  better  vor  me  ! — [Aloud.]  Vaut 
is  begone  of  de  roof  of  de  ouse. 

Aga.  We  boiled  it  down  for  broth  ! 

Ger.  And  picked  the  rafthers  after  ;  don't  you  see  she's 
bothered,  and  it's  the  pigs  they  killed  she's  spaking  of. 

Hans.  Bodder — vat  is  dat  ] 

Ger.  [Points  to  his  ears.]  Deaf — can't  hear ! 

Aga.  You're  right  enough  ;    yes,   yes.    \Points  to  licr 
ears.]  I  remember,  you  mean  the  last  fellows  we  found 
•trespassing  on  the  grounds  1     We  cut  off  their  ears.    Ha, 
ha,  ha!  that  was  a  good  joke.       [Agatha  takes  table  to  c. 

Hans.  Vat  a  orrid  voomans. 

Ger.  Yes,  ma'am  ;  don't  mind  her,  yer  honour,  they  are 
very  polite  to  strangers,  though  they  do  sometimes  have 
a  little  sport  among  themselves. 

Hans.  Sport  to  gut  off  a  man's  ears  1 

Ger.  Do  you  know,  then,  I  knew  a  man  that  had  his 
«ars  cut  off,  and  he  said  it  was  rather  pleasant. 

Hans.  Bleasant  1 

Ger.  Yes,  indeed  ;  he  was  a  bad   character,  you   see,  * 
and  when  his  ears  was  cut  off,  he  couldn't  hear  anything 
bad  of  himself. 

Hans.  \Aside.]  Gut  off  his  ears — 1  don't  like  dis  goun- 
try  ! 

Ger.  The  ould  woman  says  she'll  give  us  something  to 
ate. 

Hans.  I  vould  loike  someting  to  ate,  vor  I  am  ztarving. 
*  Aga.  What  would  you  like  to  eat  ? 


SC-F.VF.  ITT.]  OF    THK    PEPPERS.-  31 

Huns.   You  can  vry  a  belt  o'  big  ! 

Aga.   They  were  all  planted  last  spring. 

Ger.  You  forget  she's  deaf.  [Speaks  loutL]  Have  you  a 
rasher  of  bacon  1 

Aga.  Bacon  ]  Oh,  no — no — no — we  can't  be  extrava- 
gant now,  since  the  last  lord  died.  But  I'll  examine  the 
larder,  and  see  what  I  can  do  for  you. 

[Exit  down  the  stage. 

Ger.  I  thought  there  was  no  pig,  any  how. 

Hans.  Vy  don't  dey  kill  de  pigs  ? 

Ger.  Kill  them,  indeed  !  Why,  man,  would  you  be 
committin'  suicide  !  Kill,  indeed  !  no,  no,  they  keep  the 
pigs— 

Hans.  Vor  vaut  dey  geep  dem  ] 

Ger.  For  ornament,  to  be  sure  ! 

Hans.  But  she  vas  talkin'  about  killin'  de  big  dis  morn- 
ing. 

Ger.  That  was  braggin'  only  ;  she's  an  ould  sarvant, 
and  wishes  to  support  the  pride  of  the  house. 

Hans.  If  she  could  zupport  de  ouse  itself,  it  vould  be 
petters. 

Ger.  Indeed,  the  house  might  be  betther  : — I  own  that 
it's  rather  out  of  repair. 

Hans.  Vaut  a  blace  to  vail  into  mind  ands. 

Ger.  You're  just  in  time  to  catch  it,  I  think — this  would 
be  a  nice  room  for  studying  astronomy,  for  you  might  see 
the  lovely  luminaries  without  goin'  out  into  the  could  at 
all. 

Re-enter  AGATHA,  with  <i  disk  of  boiled  potatoes  and  a  her- 
ring, from  trap. 

Aga.  Here's  something  for  your  supper,  and  a  seat. 
Ger.  My  blessins  on  you !     Could  you  lend  us  the  loan 
of  another  stool  ] 

'Aga.  Yes — yes.     I'll  bring  it  to  you. 
Ger.  No,  my  darlin',   I'll  step  down  and  bring  it  my- 
eelf.  [Exeunt  Agatha  and  Gerald,  R. 

Hans.  [Draws  up  the  table,  lifts  the  dish  upon  it,  and 
seats  himself. \  Splut !  noting  but  veesh — salt  errin  !  Veil, 
bat  as  dis  is — I  vill  begin  to  eat,  vor  I'm  ztarvin'. 

[He  is  going  to  cut  the  herring,  when  Gerald  :omes  in 
and  stops  him. 


32  "THE    WHITK    HOUSE  [ACT  !  I. 

Ger.  Murther  !  Murther  !  What  are  you  going  to  do, 
man  ? 

Hans.  To  ate  mine  zupper ! 

Ger.  Goin'  to  cut  that  fish?  why,  it  is  ruinin'  the  family 
entirely  you'd  be. 

Hans.  Ruin  de  vamily  to  ate  von  errin  ? 

Ger.  That  herring  has  supported  this  family  for  the 
last  six  months. 

Hans.  Pooh  !  I'm  not  such  a  vool  as  dat. 

Ger.  It's  thruth  I'm  tellin'  you.  The  herrins  was  throu- 
bled  with  a  scarceness  last  sayson,  and  so  we  must  be  sa- 
vin' of  the  few  we  have  of  them,  and  only  use  them  to 
give  the  praties  a  flavour. 

Hans.  A  vlavour  ! — vaut  is  dat  1 

Ger.  I'll  shew  you — here,  [Peels  a  potatoe,  and  Hans 
follows  his  example,}  take  the  eye  out  of  the  potatoe,  and 
then  it  can't  see  what  you're  doing.  [Points  a  potatoe  at 
the  herring,  and  then  eats.]  That's  as  fine  a  herring  as  ever 
I  ate.  Oh,  that's  nourishing,  that's  what  we  call  potatoes 
and  point,  here  ! 

Hans.  Vy,  vat  goot  is  in  pointin  at  de  veesh  1 

Ger.  Why,  you  imagine  you're  eating  it  all  the  time, 
and  the  herring  never  grows  less  for  pointing  at  it. 

Hans.  Oh,  dat  is  vera  goot  vor  a  boet !  But  I  have 
naut  imaginations  ! 

Ger.  Well,  if  you're  a  glutton,  you  may  rub  the  pratie 
to  it ;  but  I  warn  you  not  to  put  your  knife  in  that  her- 
rin',  or  it  may  be  there  will  be  a  knife  in  you  before  long. 

Hans.  \Rubs  his  potatoe  to  herring,  and  cats.\  Bah  !  T 
daste  notin  ! 

Ger.  That  shows  you  haven't  a  delicate  taste,  but  when 
your  palate  becomes  refined  you'll  enjoy  it,  and  you'll 
never  have  the  nightmare  after  it,  for  it's  a  nice  light  sup- 
per. \Hands  a  brittle. 

Hans.  [D rinks.]  Dat  is  goot. 

Ger.  To  be  sure  it  is ;  for  this  is  the  house  above  all 
others,  you  ought  to  get  good  dhrink  in  ;  for  it  was  through 
the  dhrink  the  family  went  to  decay.  You  see,  the  an- 
chient  owner  of  this  place  was  a  knight  arriant. 

Hans.  Knight  Arriant — vaut  is  dat? 

Ger.  Why,  then,  don't  you  know  what  a  knight  arriant 
isl 


SCENE  III.]  OF    THE    PF.PPERS.  33 

Hans,  Nieri ! 

Ger.  That's  no  ! — I  know  that  much  Dutch.  I'd  grow 
quite  accomplished  in  your  company.  Well,  I  must  tell 
you  that  a  knight  arriant  is  a  man  that  goes  about  the 
world  for  sport,  with  a  sword  by  his  side,  takin'  whatever 
he  likes  for  himself;  and  that's  a  knight  arriant — like 
yourse/f,  indeed,  sir.  Well,  he  improved  his  property, 
by  takin'  every  body  else's  that  he  could,  and  left  a  great 
heap  o'  land  to  his  son  ;  and  a  fine  property  it  was  ;  but, 
somehow  or  other,  they  never  could  live  fast  enough,  and 
wor  gettin  in  debt  ever  more — and  so  the  property  got 
worse  and  worse,  till  the  last  owner  found  that  he  was 
heir  only  to  a  thousand  a-year. 

Hans.  A  tousand  a-year — eh  !   dat  is  goot. 

Ger.  Yes,  but  you  see  it  was  a  thousand  a-year,  that 
was  spint. 

Hans.  Oh,  it  vas  spend  ! 

Ger.  Yes,  and  that  made  the  man  that  owned  it  take 
to  dhrink.  I'd  throuble  you  for  that  bottle,  [Drinks.]  and 
so  the  more  he  cRiraiik  the  better  he  liked  it,  which  is  on- 
ly natural ;  and  it  made  him  forget  his  losses — for  how 
could  he  remember  anything  bad,  when  he  forgot  him- 
self] And  so,  to  supply  the  dhrink,  he  began  to  cut  down 
the  timber. 

Hans.  I  vish  he  did  naut. 

Ger.  Indeed,  it  was  a  shame,   seein'  you  wanted  to  do 
it  yourself.     But,  as  1  was  tellin'  you,  he  grew  fonder  and 
fonder  of  the  dhrop — and   indeed  it's   a  complaint  com- 
mon in    Ireland  yet ;  I'll   take  another  gurlouge,  if  you 
plfcase — [Drinks] — and  dhrunk  to  that  degree  that  he  was 
for  ever  dhry  ;   and  the  dhryer  he    got,  the   fasther  went 
the  timber,  and  at  last  all  the  woods  was  sowld  for  dhrink, 
so  that,  in  fact,  the  timber  was  lost  with  a  sort  of  dry  rot. 
[Noise  of  ?nany  voices  speaking,    and  a  pistol  si  tot    ?'<?, 
heard. 

Hans.  Vaut  is  dat]  [Jumps  up. —  Ger.  remains  composed. 

Ger.  Oh,  it's  only  a  parcel  of  the  young  people  of  the 
family  enjoyin'  themselves. 

Hans.  But  I  'ear  a  shot. 

Ger.  To  be  sure — how  could  they  kill  one  another 
without  shooting — wait — I'll  just  step  down  and  see  what 
they're  about.  \Gerald  descends  stairs. 


34  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [Act  II. 

Hans.  I  like  not  rnoche  dis.  [Great  noise  below.}  Dis 
beople  zeem  not  goot  beoples — did  not  like  de  beoples  I 
met  dis  day  in  de  pog.  Sploot,  dat  pog  !  mine  orse  I 
naut  get  yet.  Vish  I  vas  upon  him,  and  von  goot  roat 
unter  him,  vouldn't  I  put  the  zpurs  in  him  !  [No'tsc.}  I 
dink  1  vill  zee  vat  dey  are  about.  [Goes  to  the  stains  \  Dey 
are  round  de  gorner,  but  dere  zeem  a  great  c|pwt.  I 
loike  not  dis  moche. 

Re-enter  GERALD  up  the  staircase. 

Ger.  What  are  you  lookin'  out  there  for  ] 
Hans.  I  vas  only  admirin'  de  brospect — bud,  I  zay,  as 
dere  is  not  much  'gomodation  'ere,   I  dink  ve  moight  as 
veil  go  back  again. 

Ger.  Whist  !  stay  quiet  a  bit — don't  be  in  a  hurry,  or 
you'll  rise  suspicions.  There's  my  Lord  Killstranger,  and 
about  twenty  other  blackguards,  below,  was  axin'  impu- 
dent questions  about  you — and  who  you  wor — and  what 
you  came  about,  and  so  I  gave  them  an  evasive  answer. 
Hans.  Vat  call  you  'vasive  answer  1  • 

Ger.  I  tould  them  to  go  to  the  divil  and  wait  till  I  came 
for  them ! 

Hans.  [  Very  uneasy.]  1  dink  ve  had  petter  go  pack 
again  ! 

Ger.  Oh,  don't  be  in  a  hurry,  for  these  is  quare  people. 
You  wor  wondherin'  about  the  roof  being  so  bad — but 
I'll  explain  it  to  you.  You  see,  the  people  about  the  cas- 
tle stole  the  slates  for  to  thatch  their  places ;  for  you  must 
know  they  are  in  the  habit  of  burning  one  another's  hou- 
ses in  these  parts,  and  slates  doesn't  take  fire  so  aisjf  as 
sthraw. 

Hans.  Dey  burn  de  ouses,  den  ? 

Ger.  Oh,  only  when  they  have  nothing  else  to  divart 
them  ; — but  they  never  burn  the  people  in  them  ! 

Hans.  Ah!  naut  de  beoples? 

Ger.  Oh,  no — they  wouldn't  be  so  cruel  as  that ;  be- 
sides, is  is  betther  sport  to  shoot  them  flying. 

[Noise  below. 

Hans.  Ve  had  petter  go  pack  again. 

Ger.  I'm  afeard  they  would  suspect  you  of  something 
bad,  if  you  would  be  goin' — I  wouldn't  answer  for  your 
throat ! 


R"*;NK  III.]  OF    THE    PEPPERS.  35 

Hans.  T  am  deir  lantlor ;  dey  vould  not  gut  mine  droat. 

G.er.  Wouldn't  they  ] — 'Faith  they  would — sooner  than 
pay  you  your  rent,  I  can  tell  you. — The  last  landlord  of 
this  place  was  no  favourite,  and  he  shut  himself  up,  ac- 
cordingly, and  wouldn't  open  his  door  to  man,  woman, 
or  child  ;  but  they  were  so  determined  to  have  him,  that 
they  climbed  up  the  castle  walls,  tore  the  roof  off  the 
house  to  get  at  him,  threw  him  out  of  the  window,  and 
he  fell  upon  some  pitch-forks  which  they  had  outside, 
ready  for  him. 

Hans.  [  Writhing  in  imagined  agony.]  Oh,  murter  !  mur- 
terl 

Ger.  You  may  say  murdher,  sure  enough  ! — But  the 
blackguards  wos  thried  for  it. 

Hans.  Oh,  dey  vos  troid  1 

Ger.  Oh,  yes. 

Hans.   Andhangt1? 

Ger.  Why,  they  would  have  been — only  that  the  jury 
was  practical  men  themselves,  and  so  they  brought  in  a 
verdict  of  "  accidental  death." 

Hans.  Vill  you  naut  gome  along  out  of  dis  ? 

Ger.  Why,  1  think  you  had  better  be  off,  for  fear  of 
accidents;  but  I  must  stay  here  to  watch  these  black- 
guards. 

Hans.  But  vaut  zhall  I  do  midout  a  kite  ? 

Ger.  I  have  put  the  ould  woman  up  to  it,  and  she  is 
waitin'  undher  the  window  for  you,  and  will  lade  you 
over  the  bog  to  the  house  of  a  dacent  man,  a  friend  o' 
mine,  and  he'll  give  you  shelther,  and  I'll  see  you  in  the 
mornin', 

Hans.  Goot  vellow !  goot  vellow  ! — Bote  how  zhall  I 
get  out  ] 

Ger.  Out  of  the  window,  to  be  sure,  for  them  vagabones 
is  down  stairs. 

,  Allans.  [Looking  down  from  window.]  I  zhall  break  my 
negi 

Ger.  Well,  it's  betther  brake  your  neck  than  have  your 
throat  cut — here — I'll  make  an  iligant  laddher  for  you — 
[  Takes  the  blanket  from  the  sheaf  of  straw  that  serves  for  a- 
u  bed,  and  tears  it] — here,  tie  this  to  your  belt — and  here's 
(i  rope — [  Unties  his  own  rope  girdle  and  joins  it  to  blanket,} 
••--there's  a  nate  bit  o'  carpenthers'  work  for  you — now, 


36  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [ACT  If. 

get  out  o'  the  window,    and    I'll  slip  you  down  as  aisy  as 
an  oysther ! 
.  Hans.  You  are  zure  dere  is  no  bitch-vorks  ! 

Ger.  If  there  is  you'll  feel  them  tickle  you,  and  then 
whistle  to  me,  and  I'll  pull  you  up — \Hans  gets  out  of 
window,  and,  is  supposed  to  fall.  Gerald  pulls  in  half  the 
broken  line — Hans  roars.]  Run  for  your  life — take  care  of 
the  dog!  [Barking  of  dogs,  squealing  of 'pigs ',  and  the  roar- 
ing of  Hans  and  Aggy  outside,  while  Darby  and  Peasants 
run  up  the  staircase,  with  lighted  torches,  which  they  Jlare 
out  of  the  ivirtdow,  while  they  shout  after  Hans.  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !  [Darby  and  Peasants  laugh.}  Well  done,  boys  ! — 
He's  well  frightened.  Now,  Darby,  give  him  a  quarter 
of  an  hour's  law,  and  then  keep  up  the  hunt  after  him  ; 
Aggy  will  lead  him  round  the  bog  to  Ballygarth  house, 
where  I  will  be  ready  to  receive  him,  and  by  the  time 
he  arrives  there,  if  he's  not  tired  of  being  an  Irish  land- 
lord, I'll  never  brag  of  being  an  Irish  guide.  \Exif,  L.  u.  E. 
Dar.  More  luck  to  you,  Masther  Gerald  ;  I  wondher 
what  hand  he'll  make  of  the  furrine^ dragoon  when  he 
gets  him  over  into  Ballygarth;  but  no  fear  of  the  mas- 
ther,  long  life  to  him  ;  he's  as  brave  as  a  lion,  and  as  'cute 
as  a  fox,  and  has  the  courage  and  wit  of  the  ould  coun- 
thry  to  hould  his  own  yet ; — so,  never  despair,  boys.  Phe- 
lim,  your  sowl,  give  us  the  tune  to  it. 

SONG.— PH  ELI  M. 

Oh,  never  despair,  for  our  hopes  oftentime, 
Spring  swiftly  as  flowers  in  a  tropical  clime, 
Where  the  spot  that  was  barren  and  scentless  at  night, 
Is  blooming  and  fragrant  at  morning's  first  light. 
The  mariner  marks,  when  the  tempest  sings  loud, 
That  the  rainbow  is  brighter,  the  darker  the  cloud ! 
Then  up  !  up !  never  despairs 

The  leaves  which  the  Sybil  presented  of  old, 
Though  lessened  in  number  were  not  worth  less  gold,  • 

And  though  Fate  steal  our  joys,  do  not  think  they're  the  best. 
The  few  she  has  spared  may  be  worth  all  the  rest. 
Good  fortune  oft  comes  in  adversity's  form, 
And  the  rainbow  is  brightest  when  darkest  the  storm. 
Then  up  !  up  !  never  despair. 

And  when  all  creation  was  sunk  in  the  flood, 
Sublime  o'er  the  deluge  the  Patriarch  stood, 
Though  destruction  around  him  in  thunder  was  hur/ed, 
Undaunted  he  looked  on  the  wreck  of  the  world. 


SCENE  IV.] 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  37 


For  high  o'er  tho  ruin  hung  Hope's  blessed  form, 
The  rainbow  beamed  bright  through  the  gloom  of  the  storm 
Then  up  !  up  !  never  despair. 

[Scene  closes. 

SCENE  IV. —  The  Heath. — Night. —  Thunder,  wind,  and 
rain. 

Enter  AGATHA  and  HANS,  R. 

Hans.  Donderskind  ! — vaught  a  night !  Dis  old  vrow 
does  not,  I  veer,  know  de  vay  ; — I  must  ztay  all  night  in 
dis  pog ! — I  shall  die  !  verachtig  !  I  vish  I  never  gome  to 
dis  gountry  !  [Agatha  sits  down  on  a  stone,  and  begins  to 
coug/t.\  Splut !  is  she  going  to  ztay  here  ]  I  zay,  old  vo- 
mans,  oh,  1  vorgot  ! — young  vomans  ! 

Aga.  Yes,  yes,  I  know — it  is — I  know  the  place  well  : 
it  is  Dead  Man's  Hole  !  [Shouts  outside. 

Hans.  Goot  vomans  !   meg  haste  ! 

Aga.  No,  you're  wrong.  The  body  was  found  the  next 
morning.  * 

Hans.  Zappermint ! — his  botty  vas  vound — vill  you  get 
up,  my  bretty  young  vomans  ? 

Aga.  I  will  show  the  gibbet  of  three  more  that  was 
hanged,  when  we  come  to  Gallows-green  ! 

Hans.  Vaut  a  horrid  gountry! — vaut  names! — Dead 
Man's  Hole  ! — Gibbets  vor  dree,  and  Gallows-green  ! — 
Mine  dear  vomans,  vere  is  de  ouse  ve  go  to — de  ouse  ! 

Aga.  Oh  !  the  house  ! — ah,  it's  not  more  than  half-a- 
mile  ; — there — look  ! 

Ha?is.  [Starting.]   Vaut  is  it  1 

Aga.  Oh,  don't  be  afraid ;  you  thought  that  was  the 
light  which  they  say  the  murdered  gauger  goes  about 
with,  looking  for  his  head  that  was  cut  off. 

Hans.  \Aside.]  De  orrid  old  vrow  !  she  vill  not  get  on  ! 

Aga.  No  :  that  light  you  see  is  in  the  house  we  are  go- 
ing to. 

Hans.  Dat  loight  is  in  de  ouse  ]  [Shouts  outside. 

Aga.  Yes. 

Hans.  Den,  I  vill  ron  vor  it.  [Exit,  running,  L. 

Aga.  Stay  ! — don't  leave  me  to  be  murdered  !   [  Throws 
off  her  hood,  and  changes  her  voice.]  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  he's  in  a 
precious  fright !  he  can't  miss  the  light,   and  now  I  must 
get  in  before  him  through  the  back  avenue. 
D 


38  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [Acx  II. 

Enter  DARBY  and  Peasants. 

Dar.  Hollo  !   are  you  here,  Aggy  1 

Ago.  Ha,  ha  !  don't  you  see  1  am. 

Dar.  And  where  is  the  furriner  of  a  villain '*we  are 
huntin'  ? 

Aga.  Oh,  the  poor  devil — ha,  ha,  ha!  I've  been  telling 
him  such  stories  ! 

Dar.  But  where  is  he  1 

Aga.  He  ran  away,  and  wouldn't  wait  for  me  when  he 
heard  you  close  after  him. 

Dar.  Then  we  must  pursue  him  to  the  house. 

Aga.  Stop  !  not  too  fast :  he  can't  miss  the  house  now, 
for  the  light  is  ready  burning  in  the  window  to  lead  him  : 
you'll  only  frighten  him  off  the  road  if  you  run  him  too 
hard  ;  but  keep  up  the  phillilew  after  him  for  the  fun  of 
the  thing.  [Exeunt  omnes,  shouting  "  Follow  !  follow  !" 

SCENE  V. — The  Interior  of  Ballygarth,  same  as  first  scene, 
first  act. 

Enter  MAGDALENE  and  DILLON,  L. 

Dil.  You  are  rather  surprised  to  see  me  here  ! 

Mag.  Dear  Dillon,  how  kind  to  be  the  bearer  of  these 
good  tidings  yourself. 

Dil.  I  tell  you,  this  English  colonel  interests  himself 
deeply  in  Gerald's  welfare  ;  so  let  my  friend  be  of  good 
cheer,  and  not  take  any  desperate  step  ;  for,  though  the 
forfeiture  of  the  estate  be  certain, — 

Mag.  No  matter  !  Hard  though  it  be  to  lose  wealth, 
what  is  that  in  comparison  with  life.  My  Gerald  is  safe, 
you  think  ? 

Dil.  I  hope  so ;  and  I  would  not  lose  the  pleasure  of 
being  the  bearer  of  the  intelligence  myself.  You  told 
him  this  good  news  when  you  ran  away  from  me  just 
now  ] 

Mag.  Yes  ;  how  could  I  keep  it  from  him  ]  He  will 
be  here  in  a  moment,  he  has  been  changing  his  dress. 

Enter  GERALD  in  his  former  dress,  L. 

Ger.  Welcome,  Dillon  ;  good  and  kind  friend  that  you 
are  : — so,  life  is  safe  1 


SCENE  V.] 


OF    THE    PEPPERS.  39 


DiL  I  can  scarcely  doubt  it,  from  the  interest  Colonel 
Chesham  takes  in  your  favour. 

Mag.  And  that  is  all  I  care  for. 

DiL  But  the  property,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  sorry  to 
Bay,  must  change  hands. 

Ger.   And  I  am  happy  to  say,  I  hope  it  will. 

DiL  What  mean  you  1 

Ger.  Why,  at  present,  whose  property,  by  legal  right, 
is  it! 

DiL  Why,  truly,  though  you  are  here  in  possession, 
the  property  is  the  right  of  Major  Mansfeldt. 

Ger.  And  thereupon,  I  say,  I  hope  it  will  soon  change 
hands;  and  1  have  been  employed  all  day  in  getting  him 
into  a  proper  state  of  mind  to  that  end  :  I  have  given  him, 
in  the  first  place,  a  specimen  of  an  Irish  guide,  that  he 
*will  never  desire  to  follow  ;  a  short  cut,  that  he  will  re- 
member long.  -I  have  shown  him,  that  it  is  easier  to  have 
a  keep  to  a  castle  than  a  castle  to  keep  ;  that  though  it  is 
very  well  to  have  tenants  at  will,  'tis  the  devil  to  have 
tenants  against  their  will;  that  bogs  are  not  suited  to  ca- 
valry movements  ;  that  murders  are  more  plenty  than 
blackberries ;  that  manslaughter  and  arson  are  the  com- 
mon amusements  of  the  people  ;  in  short,  that  Ireland  is 
the  finest  country  under  the  sun  to  live  out  of  f  and  after 
that,  I  think  .he  will  be  inclined  to  sell  his  property  a  bar- 
gain. 

DiL  Well,  I  hope  you  can  bring  him  to  a  sale. 

Ger.  Bring  him  ! — why,  I  am  driving  him  to  market 
this  minute.  My  boys  are  hunting  him  here,  even  now  ; 
— I  expect  him  every  moment. 

Enter  AGATHA,  L. 

Aga.  Oh,  I  am  half-dead,  scampering  over  that  bog. 
He's  coming,  sir. 

Ger.  You  frightened  him  well,  I  hope  ? 

Aga.  I  haven't  spoken  a  word  under  manslaughter,  for 
the  last  half-hour. 

Ger.  Well  done,  Aggy  !  [Loud  knocking  and  shouts,  L.] 
Ho !  you  are  come,  my  boy  ! — now  to  frighten  him  a  lit- 
tle more.  [Knocking.  Gerald  takes  up  a  gun,  throws  up 
the  window,  and  fires.}  Take  that,  you  blackguards  ! 

Hans.  [Outside.]  Murter !  murter  ? 


40  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [Acr  II 

Gcr.  Is  it  coming  again  you  are,  you  villains,  to  break 
open  my  house  t — Dennis,  hillo  !  bring  me  more  blunder- 
busses ! 

Hans.  [Outside.]  No!  no!  don't  zhoot  me!  I'm  not  a 
ropper. 

Ger.  Hollo  !  is  that  my  Dutch  friend  ? 

Hans.  Ya  !  ya  !  open  de  toor,  vor  de  loaf  of  'eaven ! 

[Shouts  outside. 

Ger.  Oh,  they  are  hunting  you,  I  see. 

Hans.  Ya  !  ya  !  open  de  tore  ! 

Ger.  Open  the  door  !  'tis  more  than  our  lives  are  worth; 
but  here,  Dennis,  bring  the  rope  that  we  come  up  stairs 
at  night  with. 

Enter  SERVANT   with  rope,  which  Gerald  lowers  from  the 
window. 

Make  yourself  fast  to  that,  and  we'll  drag  you  in. 

[Shouts  outside. 

Hans.  Make  hase  !  make  hase  ! 

Ger.  Come  along,  then.  [Dillon,  Gerald,  and  Servants 
drag  up  Hans,  through  'window  :  he  is  in  a  woeful  plight ; 
at  that  mo?nent  a  gun  fired  at  him,  and  shouts.}  I  hope  1 
didn't  hurt  you  when  I  fired  ] 

Hans.  Nien  !   I'm  so  glad  you  did  miss  me. 

Ger.  I'll  be  glad  to  miss  you  every  day  in  the  year. 
[Hans  si?iks  into  a  chair.}  You  seem  a  little  tired  ;  here, 
take  a  cup  of  wine.  [Hans  drinks.}  But  how  did  all  this 
happen  ] 

Hans.  Vy,  I  gome  down  here  vor  mine  esdate. 

Ger.  I  congratulate  you  ;  what's  the  name  of  it  ? 

Hans.  Ballagarde. 

Ger.  We  shall  be  neighbours,  then  ? 

Hans.  Nien  !  nien  !  I  vould  not  ztop  in  dis  gountry 
not  vor  not  in  ! 

Ger.  Pooh!  pooh!  don't  be  prejudiced  in  a  hurry; 
that  estate  is  a  very  nice  bit  o'  bog  to  live  upon. 

Hans.  If  dey  vould  let  you  lif. 

Ger.  Why,  there's  something  in  that,  certainly ;  and  1 
must  own,  that  estate  of  yours  has  been  rather  unlucky 
to  the  people  who  have  held  it ;  the  last  owner — but  I 
won't  make  you  uneasy.  • 

Hans.  Oh,  I  know — I  know — de  bitchvorks — 


SCIXK  V.]  OF    TIIK    PEPPERS.  41 

J  Ger.  Oh,  you  heard  of  it,  then  ? 

Harts.  Ya! 

Ger.  Well,  perhaps  you'll  have  more  luck  with  the 
property,  and  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  life  to  enjoy  it;  and 
don't  despise  it  because  it's  a  bog ;  for  you  may  reclaim 
very  good  land  out  of  bog,  if  you'll  only  sink  a  little  pro 
perty  in  it. 

Hans.  But  I  aff  zurik  mine  broperty  in  it. 

Ger.   Well,  you  have  lost  no  time. 

Hans.  But  I  have  lost  mine  orse  ! 

Ger.  Well,  that's  improving  neither  to  the  horse  nor 
the  bog ;  how  deep  was  he  when  you  left  him  ? 

Hans.  Up  to  de  neg. 

Ger.  Faith,  then,  that  horse  is  digging  turf,  by  this  time, 
about  twenty  feet  deep  ! 

Hans.  And  vaut  am  I  to  do  ?  I  gannot  get  back  mi- 
dout  an  orse — Donderskind  !  but  I  vould  gif  mine  es- 
date vor  noting  more  dan  an  orse,  dis  minute  ! 

Ger.  A  dragoon  without  a  horse,  is  like  a  parson  with- 
out a  church ;  so,  take  a  horse  out  of  my  stable,  and  send 
him  back  when  you  get  to  Dublin. 

Hans.  Dank  you  !  dank  you,  my  vriend  !  but  look,  gif 
me  de  voight  orse  you  ride  yesterday,  and  dere — produ- 
ces folded  parchment, \ — dere  is  de  depenture  of  mine  es- 
date. 

Dil.  Do,   Gerald,   do — I'll   draw  up   an   assignment. — • 

[Takes  tlie  debenture,  goes  over  to  the  table,  and,  writes. 
,    Ger.  No,  no — my  white  horse,  indeed  ?  you've  a  good 
taste  in  horse-flesh,    I  see  !     I   wouldn't  give  my  white 
horse  for  three  such  estates  ! 

Hans.  But  it's  a  noice  pit  o'  pog ! 

Ger.  Pooh  ! 

Hans.  And  a  goot  ouse  ! 

Ger.  A  ruin  ! 

-  Hans.  Only  a  little  out   of  rebair ;  and  if  you  zink  a 
little  broperty  in  de  pog — 

Ger.  I  will  never  sink  my  horse  in  it,  sir,  as  you  did 
yours  :  that  white  horse  of  mine,  sir,  can  go  ! 

Hans.  Veil,  let  him  go  vor  de  esdate  ! 

Ger.   The  finest  charger  in  Ireland. 

Hans.  Veil,  charge  him  on  de  esdate. 

Ger,  Come,  you've  said  a  smart  thing,  for  once  in  your 


42  THE    WHITE    HORSE  [ArT  H. 

"life,  and,  for  the  sake  of  the  joke,  I  have  a  mind  to  let 
you  have  him. 

Dil.  Here  is  the  assignment.  .    . 

Hans.  Goot,  goot — Den  I  vill  put  my  zynment  to**t. 

Ger.  I  don't  like  parting  with  that  horse,  I  can  tell  you. 

[To  Hans. 

Hans.  Ah,  you  have  got  von  vine  broperty  vor  him. 
[Hans  goes  to  table  and  writes — Magdalene  watches 
him  with  interest — hands  pen  to  Gerald. 

Ger.  I  don't  like  parting  with  that  horse. 

Hans.  Gome!  gome!  [Pitts  pen  in  his  hand,]  you  zign, 
you  zign — you  bromise  me  de  orse. 

Ger.  Well,  I  must  not  break  my  promise ;  [Signs. \ 
there,  you  have  got  the  finest  horse  in  Ireland  ! 

Hans.  [Exulting.]  Ha  !  donder  and  blitzen,  dat  is  goot ! 
ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Ger.  [Locks  up  the  assignment  and  debenture  in  box.]  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  This  it  a  funny  affair  altogether  !  well,  business 
being  over,  we'll  drink  a  cup  of  wine,  and  wish  each 
other  good  luck  with  our  bargains. 

Hans.  Ya  !  mid  all  my  heart.  [They  Jill  and  drink.]  I 
vill  be  glad  to  get  out  of  dis  place,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Ger.  Ha,  ha  ! — Yes,  and  I'm  glad  to  stay  in  it ;  so  we 
are  both  pleased.  [Knocking.]  What,  more  visitors  ! 
[Goes  to  the  window.]  Who's  there  ? 

Chesh.   [Outside.]  Colonel  Chesham  ! 

Ger.  Welcome,  Colonel ; — open  the  door,  there,  to  the 
Colonel. 

Hans.  You  dell  me  you  vas  avraid  to  oben  de  tore. 

Ger.  Oh,  the  country  is  much  more  peaceable  within 
the  last  five  minutes. 

Enter  COLONEL  CHESHAM,  L. 
Welcome,  Colonel ! 

Enter  AGATHA  and  PHELIM. 

Chesh.  1  rejoice  to  see  you,  sir,  and  am  glad  to  be  the 
bearer  of  good  tidings  ;  [Hands  a  paper •,]  here  is  a  free 
pardon  for  you.  [Gerald  hands  paper  to  Magdalene,  and 
embraces  her.]  What !  you  here,  Major  Mansfeldt  1 

Hans.  Ya !  dat  is  me — Oh,  I  vas  near  gilt  zince  T  zee 
you,  by  dem  rascal  reppels ;  but  I  vill  go  avay,  now,  mid 


SCENE  VI.]  OF    THE   PEPPERS  43 

you,  dat  I  have  got  von  orse. — [Aside.}  I  have  done  him 
out  of  his  voight  orse ; — ha,  ha  ! — zuch  a  peauty  ! 

Ger.  Thanks,  Colonel,  for  your  kind  interference  in 
my  favour.  This  precious  bit  of  paper  secures  me  life  : 
and  Major  Mansfeldt,  I  am  happy  to  say,  has  behaved  ve- 
ry liberally,  and  sold  me  the  property  for  a  trifle. 

Ches.  Give  me  your  hand,  Mansfeldt ;  I  shall  ever  re- 
spect you  for  this.  \Shakes  hands  with  Mansfeldt,  then 
turns  to  Pepper.}  Strange  chance,  sir,  that  the  men  you 
saved  yesterday  should  have  power  to  benefit  you  to-day. 
T  have  interceded  for  your  life ;  the  Major  has  restored 
your  property,  and  now,  Master  Pepper — 

Hans.  Bepper  !  vaut,  are  you  Bepper  ] 

Ger.  I'm  only  one  of  the  Peppers  ;  for,  you  know  [In 
the  manner  of  Rajferty},  there  is  White  Pepper,  Red  Pep- 
per, Whole  Pepper,  Ground  Pepper,  Pepper-Corn,  and 
Little  Ginger. 

Hans.  Donderskind  !  den  dis  is  Ballagarde,  I  zuppose  ? 

Ger.  It  is  Bally  garth,  sir,  where  I  am  happy  to  wel- 
come you,  once  more,  as  the  master. 

Hans.  Colonel,  I  am  shated-;  my  depenture  is  roppet 
out  of  me,  and  is  in  dat  pox,  dat  small  pox. 

Ger.  It  is  in  the  small  pox,  as  you  say,  and,  you  know, 
it  is  very  hard  to  recover  out  of  the  small  pox.  Colonel, 
in  seeking  by  stratagem  to  recover  what  selfishness  and 
injustice  would  have  robbed  my  children  of,  I  trust  you 
do  not  blame  me  ? 

Chesh.  Far  from  it,  sir  ;  where  is  that  paper  ] 

Dil.  [Hands  it  from  box.}  Here,  Colonel. 

Hans.  Give  it  to  me. 

Chesh.  No,  sir,  give  it  to  me.  As  the  representative 
of  their  honours,  the  commissioners  of  the  court  of  for- 
feiture in  this  district,  my  signature  is  necessary  ; — the 
Major  and  myself  owe  you  something  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  our  lives.  I  am  glad  to  see  the  major  has  not  for- 
gotten his  share  of  the  obligation  ;  for  myself,  F'feel  great 
pride  in  doing  an  act  of  justice  to  a  generous  man  ;  I 
therefore  ratify  the  contract  with  my  signature;  [Signs.] 
there,  sir.  [Giving  paper  to  Gerald. 

Hans.  Dey  make  a  vool  of  me,  Colonel  ! 

Aga.  [As  the  old  woman}  The  body  was  found  the  next 
morning. 


44  THE  WHITE  HORSE  OF  THE  PEPPERS.  [ACT  il 

Hans.  Oh,  you  are  de  d — d  old  vrovv !     Dey  zhow  me 
von  empty  ouse  ! 

Ger.  By  which  I  have  verified  the  proverb,  that  an 
empty  house  is  better  than  a  bad  tenant ;  but  I  hope,  dear 
Magdalene,  our  friends  will  not  turn  the  proverb  against 
us ;  for  I  trust  we  shall  always  have  a  full  house  at  Bal 
lygarth,  and  that  the  White  Horse  wilf  be  allow-ed  to  ruir 
for  many  a  day  ! 

DISPOSITION  OF  THE  CHARACTERS  AT  THE  FALL-  O 
THE  CURTAIN. 

DJL.      MAO.      GEB.      CHESH.      HANS        AGA.      PHE. 
a.]  fi- 

THE    END. 


ESTABLISHED   IN   1840! 


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AND 

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with  promptitude  and  dispatch,  at  as  liberal  terms  as  any  other  house  in  the  United 
States. 

We  have  always  on  hand  a  large  supply  of  Standard  Works,  Cheap  Publications) 
Engravings,  Lithographs,  Blank  Books,  Writing  and  Letter  Paper,  plain  and  fancy 
Ktivti-mery,  Playing  Cards,  Fancy  Articles,  &c.,  and  are  in  constant  receipt  of  all 
the  now  Works,  Magazines,  <fcc.,  that  are  published  in  the  United  States,  and  have 
made  arrangements  to  import  any  foreign  Books,  Magazines,  or  papers  to  order. 

\V  j  have  all  the  Boston.  New  York  and  Philadelphia  Weeklies,  always  on  hand, 
nnd  are  solo  agents  for  the  New  York  Daily  Herald,  Tribune,  and  Times,  and  the 
Philadelphia  Ledger,  which  are  received  and  delivered  on  the  same  day  as  pub- 
lishi-1. 

We  receive  by  every  steamer  the  London  Illustrated  News,  Punch,  Bell's  Lifo 
Wilrner  &  Smith,  and  all  the  principal  papers. 

The  particular  attention  of  the  trade  is  called  to  our  edition  of  Standard  Playa 
nnJ  Farces,  being  the  most  correct  published  in  the  United  States.  These  are  now 
Belling  rap  idly,  and  in  large  editions,  and  we  will  furnish  them  on  the  most  favorable 
terms. 

WILLIAM  &  HENEY  TATLOE, 

i  e,  Md. 


ESTABLISHED  IN  1840. 


GENERAL    AGENCY    OFFICE 

FOR    ALL 

ie  Newspapers  and  Magazines. 

WILLIAM  &  HENRY  TAYLOK, 
''UN  IRON  BUILDING,  No    111  Baltimore-st.,  ana 

No.  5  South-si.,  Baltimore,  Md., 

ARE  AGENTS  FOR  ALL  THE  MAGAZINES  AND  NEWSPAPERS 
ttblishcd  in  Boston,  New  York,  and  Philadelphia.     Yearly  subscriptions  can  be 
to  us  :  and  any  Paper  or  Magazine  subscribed  for  here  will  be  promptly  deliv- 
tin  any  part  of  the  city,  with  no  extra  charge.     The  New  York  and  Philadelphia 
Ijhr  Papers  are  served  to  our  Baltimore  subscribers  by  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening 
'the  same  day  of  their  publication.     The  following  list   embraces  in   part   the 
TjlTSPAPERS  and  MAGAZINES  received  by  us.  We  furnish  them  by  the  year  at 
'  publishers'  pi  ices,payable  in  advance.    Here  is  the  list,  with  the  prices  annexed : 

MAGAZINES 

frpers'  Magazine, 
tnam's     do 
jey's  Lady's  Book, 
mam's  Magazine, 
;ies'  National  Magazine, 
f  York  National, 
bkerbocker  Magazine, 
ihanics'  Magazine, 
fiocratio  Review, 
jctic  Magazine, 
Ing  Age,  weekly, 
ithwaite's  Retrospect, 
Jking's  Abstract, 
jry's  Museum, 

lion  Art  Journal,  9  00   Glasj 

behold  Words,  2  50 

ur's  Home  Magaziner  2  00 


$3  00 

London  Lancet,                                $ 

5  00 

3  00 

Hunt's  Merchant's  Magazine, 

5  00 

3  00 

Thompson's  Reporter, 

3  00 

Thompson's  Gold  and  Silver  Coin 

2  00 

Examiner, 

1  00 

2  00 

Yankee  Notions, 

1  50 

3  00 
3  00 

Putnam's  Semi-Monthly  Library, 
Blackwood's  Magazine, 

5  00 
3  00 

3  00 

Westminster  Review, 

3  00 

5  00 

North  British      " 

3  00 

6  00 

Edinburgh,          " 

3  00 

2  00 

Foreign  Quarterly  Review, 

3  00 

1  50 

All  these  five  can  be  had  one  year 

10  00 

ow  Practical  Mechanics'  Jour.  3  00 
^  Any  two  of  the  $3  Magazines  will 
e  sent  one  year  for  $5. 


NEWSPAPERS. 


of  our  Union, 

urn's  Illustrated  News, 

ion's  Pictorial, 

i  Museum, 
erly  Magazine, 
lean  Union, 
Ion  Illustrated  News, 
on  Punch, 
s  Life  in  London, 
pean  Times, 
tific  American, 
3n  Rule, 
B  Sam, 

Spangled  Banner, 
.ee  Blade, 
Lantern, 

Daily  Herald, 


N.  Y.  Daily  Tribune, 
N.  Daily  Times, 
Brother  Jonathan, 
Police  Gazette, 
Freeman's  Journal, 
American  Courier, 
Neal's  Gazette, 
Saturday  Post, 
Dollar  Newspaper, 
Spirit  of  the  Times, 
The  Albion, 
Literary  World, 
Home  Journal, 
National  Era, 
Courier  des  Etats  Unia, 
Boston  Pilot, 

&c.  Ac.  <fcc. 

delivered  in  any  part  of  the  city,  or  sent  by  mail,  without  any  additional  ex- 
ile member  we  are  the  agents  for  the  above,  and  supply  all  orders.     This  ia 
ery  time  to  subscribe  to  a  guod  Newspaper  or  Magazine. 

WM.  &  HENRY  TAYLOR,  Son  Iron  Building,  Baltimore.  M<L 


$  2 
3 
3 
2 
2 
2 

12 
6 

12 

12 
2 
2 
2 
2 
2 
3 

10 


$9 
9 
1 
2 
2 
2 
2 
2 
1 
5 
6 
3 
2 
2 
3 
2 


o 
PI 


^  ^%* 

93 


m 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


M5Q994 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


MODERN  STANDARD 


Price,  12  1-2  Cents  tacfi.—  Bound  Volumes,  $U>0. 


VOL.  I. 

VOL.  V. 

VOL.  ;x 

ion. 

33.  A   New   Way  to  Pay 

65.  Love. 

*    i'usAo. 

UIJ  UebU. 

66.  As  You  Like  It." 

b    I'he  Lady  of  Lyons. 

34    Look  lie  lore  You  Leap, 

67.  The  Elder  li;  other. 

4    ttichelicu. 

35    K  tug.  Jot:  it. 

6ri.  Werner. 

1    The  Wife. 

3(5   TH»:  t\«n  vous  Man. 

60.  Gisippus. 

t    Ttie  Honey  M  -on. 

37.   Uatuou  unu  Pythias. 

70.  Tow  u  and  Country.^ 

"t     fite  School  lor  Scan- 

3c.  Ta«  Clandeaiiuc,  Mar- 

71,  King  Lear. 

tial. 

?si  Blue  Devils, 

fc    Money. 

3J.  Wiii.uni  Tell. 

With    a    Portrait    and 

tf'ttA    a    Portrait    and 

40.  The     Uay    After    the 

Memoir  of  MR*.  SHAW. 

%1e.-in.oir   oj   Mrs.   A.    U. 

W  uddiu^. 

VOL.  Xv 

Jb  a  WATT. 

VOL.  II. 

i«.  The  Stranger. 
10    GrandlalUer      White- 
head. 
11.  fticliurd  III. 
Love's  Sacrifice, 
li>.   I'he  Gauieater. 

Wiik  a  Portrait  and  Me- 
moir vj  tr,£CA  VOLMAJS 

ike  Ltdcr. 

VOL.  VI. 

41.  Speed  the  Plough. 
4&  Koumo  and  J  uliet. 
43.   Feudui  J'  lines. 
44.  Cuitriua  me  Twelfth. 

73.  Henry  VI  11. 
74.  Married  uud  Sirjfle.] 
75.  Henry  IV. 
76.  Paul  Pry. 
77.  Guy  Alaunerhig. 
78.  Sweethearts  &  /./ives, 
79.  The  Serious  1  aiuily. 
80^  She  Stoops  to  t'v-nquerj 

li.  A  Cure  ior  tl;e  Heart- 
ache. 
l-»   'I'he  Hunchback. 
lu  Don  Ctesar  Ue  Bazan. 
tf  itA  a  Portrait  and  Me- 
moir if  Mr.  VtiARLtiS 

45.  Tab  bridal. 
4(i.  1'iie  Koines  of  a  Night. 
4'.  Tlie  iron  Cheat. 
4c.  Faiui    Heart     Never 
W  ou  fair  Lady. 
With  u  Portrait  and  Me- 

VOL   XI,      '  ** 

81.  Julius  Caesar. 
8^.  Vicar  of  Wake  field*  * 
83    Leap  Year. 
84.  The  Catspaw. 
85.  The  Passing  Cloud,  j 

,      K  tiAtf. 

moir  uj  tor  A.  HULtyEjK. 

LXTTUtf. 

^VOL  III. 

VOL.  VII. 

11.  The  Poor  Gentleman. 
1.      lb,  Hamlet. 

49.  Road  10  Hum. 
50.  JJJttcuettu" 

It.  diaries  11. 
2o.  Venice  Preserved. 

51.  'I'cinper. 
&l,  Evauae. 

fci    Pizarro. 
i     2~,    I'he  Love-Chase, 

53.  buriiaiit. 
54.  The  Duenna. 

!      &,   Othello, 
i     Si'i.  Lend    Me   Five  Shil- 

55.  Much  Ado  About  Noth- 

imgs. 

ing. 
56.  Tue  Critic. 

;**|A    a    Portrait   and 
.ir    of  Mr.    W.   JK. 
|      bURTOM. 

With,    a    Portrait  and 
Memoir  oj  R.  B.  SHJERl- 

VOL.  IV. 

VOL.    VIII. 

:     2o.  Virgiuius. 
i     iio.  The  Kiug  of  the  Com- 

57.  The  Apostate. 
58.  Twclita  Night. 

tuous. 

50.  Brutus. 

'     2'i;    London  Assurance, 
ue  fteut-Day. 

60.  Simpson  .&  Co.  ' 
61.  Mei'ciiuut  iof  ferine. 

1     Sw.  Two     OeuUemen     of 

&i.  Uldiieads  aud  Youue                                  *     9H 

•1£9K 

•alousWife.    ,   -r63.  Mountaineer*. 

vais. 

64,  Thine    Weeks    After 

u 

Marriage. 

ortrait    (vnd 

With   a    Portrait    and  \                                   <  / 

Wr.     /.    //. 

Memoir  of  Mr.  UEO.  H.  \                                aDH 

BARRETT. 

mittanco  of  One  Dollar,  free  of. 
f  any  of  the  plays  will  be  sent  }. 

TAYLOR  &  CO.,  151  .AV 


